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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959939">The Witch and Count Mickey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebigpalooka/pseuds/thebigpalooka'>thebigpalooka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Disney - All Media Types, Disney Cartoons (Classic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drama, F/M, Halloween, Humor, Monsters, Political Alliances, Romance, Spooky, Vampires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:28:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>70,442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebigpalooka/pseuds/thebigpalooka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>High above the Haunted Valley stands Spire Mountain.  Below it stretches Evernight Forest.  The inhabitants of these two realms have been feuding for generations, and nobody among them quarrels more bitterly or more regularly than their leaders, the vampiric Count Mickey and Minerva Nettlemouse, a gifted witch.  They've never seen eye to eye.  In fact, despite years of arguing via magic mirror, they've never actually seen each other at all.  But all of that is about to change.  Will their meeting change things for the better, or will it spell disaster for all monsterkind?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mickey Mouse/Minnie Mouse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Way It All Started</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The creatures of Spire Mountain and the monsters of Evernight Forest had been enemies for as long as anybody could remember, and that was just the way it was.  Most mortals - one means humans, mostly - don’t know anything about this.  That’s because most mortals don’t know much about anything.  They walk around being terrified of any little unexpected crash or scream or unspeakable evil even in the daytime, and so it really wouldn’t make much difference to a mortal whether you considered yourself a creature of Spire Mountain or a monster of Evernight Forest.  They would think it was all the same thing, which it most definitely was not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was simple geography for starters.  There were those who lived in the misty foothills of Spire Mountain, high above the Haunted Valley.  They’d wander through the trees and amongst the ancient fortresses and castles and the tall pines, and you’d glimpse their pale forms standing too still in the moonlight or you’d hear the rustle of wings which you could never quite follow even when the stars were bright.  There were others, however, who made their home in Evernight Forest at the end of the valley, deep and forbidding and never entirely at rest even when it was quiet as a tomb.  You would hear a faint sound of breathing, hear the scraping of claws, or see a ghostly lantern moving among the trees that you didn’t dare follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And they hated each other’s guts.  Really hated them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Absolutely anybody could’ve told you the reason why, even if none of them had been there when it all started.  And honestly, that wasn’t the beginning, because most everybody agreed that the two factions didn’t think much of one another even before, but the only thing that everybody ‘Up There’ and everybody ‘Down Back’ agreed on was that it all fell apart because of the argument over the graveyard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The story went something like this: Years and years ago, before any of us were around, the folks Up There and the folks Down Back both wanted to claim the graveyard as their own territory.   This wasn’t just any ordinary graveyard; it was right in between the two realms in the middle of the Haunted Valley, and a deliciously haunted and spooky place, surrounded by the ruins of what had once been a great, sprawling cathedral.  The crowd from Up There wanted to use it for their rituals and seances and sometimes parties.  The folks from Down Back wanted to use it for their rites and witches’ sabbaths and </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> parties.  What neither group wanted was to see the graveyard and the lovely ruins sullied and stomped and dirtied up by anyone else.  Now, here things became extremely fuzzy.  Some people said it was those snobs from the hills who had started it, by sashaying in and proclaiming, in essence, that they owned the place.  Others insisted it was the brutes from the woods who came in stomping around and pounding their chests and tracking mud everywhere.  But whoever you wanted to blame, when things finally came to a head that moonlit night so many years ago, it was a proper battle, and raged on for hours.  At the end of it, when the sun came up, there was no clear victor, only a lot of angry monsters slinking or floating or slithering off to lick their wounds.  After that day, the two factions which had never been close friends became sworn, bitter enemies, and nobody dared set foot in the graveyard at night at all from then on, for fear of starting another war.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all so long ago that nobody really thought about the graveyard anymore, at least not in the same terms.  No one lamented that such a lovely spot was wasted and useless, or talked about what powerful magic one could’ve summoned up in a place like that.  Now, no one even thought of going there, or wanted to, except maybe foolish children looking for trouble.  All one did was pass by and scoff and feel that it was much better to be among one’s own kind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, one’s own kind didn’t necessarily mean any particular type of monster.  That would be silly. To be sure, Up There it was mostly vampires and ghouls and spectres.  You would’ve never caught a vampire slumming it down in the woods, just like you never would’ve caught a werebeast preening around up among the chateaus in the hills.  They were far more comfortable with the goblins and witches and swamp things in the forest.  Who needed those snobs, anyhow?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The head snob, the biggest snob of all - if you asked anyone from Down Back - was the ruler of Spire Mountain.  He was a vampire, naturally, and his castle was the biggest and grandest of them all.  You could see it from miles away, if you stood in the right place, where the moonlight shimmered on the windows through the foothills and pines.  You could even see it from the edge of the woods, although most of those who did chose to make rude comments about it and its master.  His name was Count Mickula von Mousetenschtien, although absolutely nobody ever called him that except some of those hecklers on the edge of the woods, in high-pitched voices.  Everybody else just called him Count Mickey, which was pleasantly short, or The Count, which was even shorter.  If you asked anyone on Spire Mountain, he was very much admired, powerful, well-bred and charming.  If you asked in Evernight Forest, he was a fop and a fool and his head was probably so far up under his own cloak that he could hang upside down without needing to change into a bat at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody in Evernight Forest had any such reputation for snobbery, but they certainly had reputations, and none quite so colorful as their own leader.  She was a witch, the most powerful of her coven, which was probably why she was chosen to rule in the first place.  Her name was Minerva Deadly Nightshade Nettlemouse. The Deadly Nightshade part was her middle name, an old family tradition that went back generations.  It used to be Belladonna, but somebody had thought Deadly Nightshade was a much prettier translation and far more suitable for witches, so they’d changed it.  Anyway, most everyone just called her Minnie or Goodwitch Minnie anyway, so it didn’t matter.  Much like her counterpart, some described Minnie as lovely and strong and intelligent, able to cast spells and hexes like the dickens, while others described her as a nasty little cackling hag who probably only kept so many toads around because she hated being the only one covered with warts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So that was the way it stood between the folks Down Back and the folks Up There.  It probably would’ve been easiest for everybody if they’d just left each other alone and avoided bumping into each other, and for the most part, this was what everybody tried to do.  But when there’s somebody especially loathsome, somebody you just can’t stand, they always seem to pop up everywhere so that you can’t just forget about them.  It was that way for Minnie and Mickey.  As rulers of the two feuding factions, every time there was a problem, it generally ended up at their doorsteps.  Then away Minnie would fly to her enchanted mirror, and Mickey would tear the curtain away from his own and they would call for each other at the same time, so that the lines crossed and the mirror displayed only static and lightning, and by the time they got through, they were already angry.  And so it went, over and over again, and if the folks Down Back and the folks Up There disliked each other generally, it was something of a passion between Minerva Nettlemouse and Count Mickula.  Even the mention of each other’s name was enough to send them into a fury, and the sound of each other’s voices, wavering and tinny through the glass, was as grating as rusty nails on glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beyond that, their impressions of one another were based largely on speculation, because in all the time they’d quarreled with one another, never once had they actually met.  In fact, they’d never even seen each other.  How could they have, when Minnie’s mirror was cracked right up the middle, and Mickey’s was so tarnished he could scarcely see his own face in it?  But that didn’t matter.  You could loathe a vague outline of a person easily enough, so long as they said enough irritating things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was how things stood.  They’d stood like that for a long time, and they were standing like that today, as Count Mickey stood himself, boot tapping impatiently on his marble floor, waiting.  The witch was late - how typical.  She’d demanded to speak to him, and now she was making him wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Contrary to what a lot of the Down Back crowd thought, Count Mickey really wasn’t the sort of fellow who generally had much use for pomp and formality - or even punctuality, for that matter.  He was late for lots of things, almost constantly.  But that only made him more annoyed at present, because for once in his life, he was actually on time, and it hadn’t done him any good.  When the mirror finally began to swirl and roil to life, he pounced on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh!  Finally decided ta show up, didja, y’old witch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still younger than you, Count Mickey,” came the familiar tinny voice through the mirror.  “Besides, it couldn’t be helped.  There were a lot of urgent matters that needed my attention, something I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about.  But I hope you didn’t have too much trouble picking out the right cravat to wear today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey’s hand flew to his throat automatically.  He’d never been able to explain it, but something about Goodwitch Minnie always made him feel faintly disoriented and uneasy, like he had to keep on his toes.  Like just now, for instance.  He scowled.    “Wh - hey!  For your information, I ain’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>wearin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> a cravat.  Anyhow, what’s the big deal, one of yer howlers fall into the lake tryin’ ta growl at their own reflection again?”  He laughed rudely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmph!  That’s none of your business!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well in that case, I guess I can go now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey chuckled to himself.  He could just imagine her stomping one doubtlessly boney and knobby foot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door opened and someone slipped quietly in.  Mickey didn’t have to glance back to know who it was.  Baron Sylvestri Shyster was one of the oldest and most respected vampires on the mountain, although Mickey wasn’t quite sure why.  He was frankly an unpleasant sort of person, dour and weasel-faced and not much fun at all.  He’d taken it upon himself long ago to serve as an advisor to Mickey, an act of generosity which was resented as heartily as most such acts usually are, when they haven’t been asked for.  He didn’t say much whenever Down Back was calling, but he always seemed to have something to say afterwards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Count Mickey!  Are you listening to me?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I’m listenin’.  Whaddya want, witch?  We’re losin’ moonlight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cloudy silhouette in the mirror rippled for a moment in silence.  “...I’ve made a list.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey rolled his eyes, failing to stifle a groan.  “Aw, cripes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahem.  Firstly, some unknown ghouls - </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> forest residents - were spotted prowling around near the graveyard on Tuesday evening which obviously is a violation of our truce and so I expect you’ll be looking into that immediately.  Secondly -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, hold on, hold on, what about my rangers that saw one of YER big gorillas sneakin’ around TWICE this week, huh?  Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever your ranger thinks they saw, my people are extremely conscientious about following my rules.  But of course, maybe it’s different Up There.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmph!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of which: Secondly,  a trio of small vampires were observed to have thrown sticks and leaves at a werechild last week and said a number of rude things which I won’t repeat but I expect you’ll look into that too.  Thirdly -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For cryin’ out loud!” Mickey burst out.  “I’m not some kind of - of - of babysitter!  Let th’ kids duke it out on their own! S’good for ‘em, builds character!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Count Mickey,” Shyster interjected, frowning.  Mickey frowned too.  Probably so was the witch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If that’s what it takes to keep your youngsters in check Up There, then you can call it whatever you like,” she said crisply.  “A-he-he-hem.  Thirdly.  This month’s bloodberry supply will be ready on schedule but your representative must be punctual and we will want to see the entire payment of moonquartz up front.  Ten pounds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“T - ten pounds?!” Mickey sputtered.  “Last month it was seven!  What th’ heck are you tryin’ to pull?  That stuff doesn't just grow on trees, ya know, we gotta mine it outta the rock!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, bloodberries don’t grow on trees, either. They grow on bushes and we have to pick them and clean them and pack them too.  It’s a fair price and I won’t take any less.  So if you want to explain to everybody Up There why there are no bloodberries this month….”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey grit his teeth.  Stupid dopey bloodberries.  If only they weren’t so delicious.  They were by far the most valued import from Evernight Forest, which was the only place they grew.  If it wasn’t for those darned things, he really would’ve had that witch and all the rest of them over a barrel, because you couldn’t get moonquartz anywhere but from inside Spire Mountain, and it was a most valuable resource for spellmaking and also for werefolk who liked to crunch it up like vitamins.  But here they were, each in the wrong place, repeating this nonsense month after month.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya darned ol’ hag.  It’s a rip-off and you know it is.  That’s why ya waited til the last minute just so everybody’d be breathin’ down my neck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t help it if they’re breathing down your neck.”  There was an infuriating little note of triumph in her voice.  “Anyways, I should think you’d expect that, being a bunch of vampires.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey bared his fangs and gave the mirror an extremely stinky eye, even though she very sadly couldn’t see it.  “I’d like t’show ya what to expect from a bunch of vampires all right,” he muttered.  “Are we done?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.  There’s one more thing on my list.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was another pause, and a little fuzzy noise that was maybe the witch clearing her wizened throat.  “It’s nothing big.  Just a book, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A book.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.  Just a book of spells.  It was lost after the Unpleasantness, I suppose.  I’ve been trying to track it down for a long time and I’ve finally located it.”  Another pause, and then the witch added, casually, “ - Er - it seems it’s in your private library.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey’s brows almost shot up off his head.  “Is - issat SO?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The witch continued as if she hadn’t heard.  “So I’d just like to borrow it, that’s all.  Or keep it.  It really belongs to us anyway, or it might as well, since nobody Up There would have any real use for it -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey shot an incredulous look toward Shyster who immediately shook his head forcefully.  For once Mickey agreed with him.  “Wh - aw heck, I don’t THINK so!  I ain’t jus’ gonna hand over somethin’ like that! How do I know you ain’t gonna use it against us somehow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s not that kind of spellbook.  Besides, you’ve had the book for years anyway, you can look at it first if you want to.  Probably be good for you.  Now it hasn’t got a title printed on it but it should be a red book with gold trimming, and -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-uh,” Mickey interrupted, crossing his arms.  “Mm-mm.  No way.  Ain’t gonna happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was another flicker in the glass.  Maybe she’d stomped her foot again.  “Why not?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because, that’s why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s OUR book!  You’ve got no right to keep it from us in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well - finders, keepers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oo!  Why do you always have to be so pigheaded?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“P - p - pigheaded!” Mickey sputtered.  “Look here, you’re the one who got on here makin’ demands an’ tryin’ ta tell me what to do an’ now </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> pigheaded?!  Maybe I’m jus’ sick an’ tired of gettin’ so much lip from a buncha slime-sippin’ knock-kneed hexbabblers!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” Goodwitch Minnie gave a piercing shriek.  “You take that back!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blood-sucker!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Slop-guzzler.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ought to put the biggest curse on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey smirked, sensing victory. “You can’t put a curse on a vampire.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can if the curse is powerful enough!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pff.  Ain’t any curse more powerful than me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you like to find out!  But I’d have a hard job changing you into anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you dusty old fossil.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could make me a witch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I couldn’t, you’d never pass the initiation rites.  You’ve got to be able to read, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, sh….” Mickey muttered, trailing off in disgust.  Goodwitch Minnie’s voice rose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“AND speak the ancient languages.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>?tahw syas elicebmI</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?  ...HEY!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed.  It was the silvery laugh that he hated the most.  Flushing deeply, he reached out and hastily severed the connection, plunging the room into silence.  Shyster frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Another productive meeting, I see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mickey waved a hand dismissively.  “Aw, she’s just sore ‘cuz I won’t let her push me around.  You heard what I said to her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.  And I also heard what she said to you.  I don’t like the way she addresses you, it’s very disrespectful.  You really need to be more firm with her, Your Grace.  She needs to understand her place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“MORE firm?  Well, I can’t go reachin’ through the glass and shakin’ her, can I?  Aw, she gets the idea.  Besides, if she wouldn’t be so darn stubborn all the time, it’d be a heck of a lot easier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shyster winced a little.  “I wish you’d be a little more precise in your speech, My Lord.  This common talk is unbecoming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, nuts.”  Mickey trotted down the steps.  He’d already been feeling cross, and any talk of preciseness in his speech made him as restless as a tomcat.  “...Then wish it on th’next shootin’ star ya see.  I’m goin’ out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But -”  It was too late.  Mickey was out the door and down the stairs.  Shyster remained in silence, his scowl deepening.  Rank was rank, but he never had approved of the way Mickey handled things.  It wasn’t so much the bickering, childish as it was.  Obviously, any representative of Evernight Forest was going to be almost impossible to deal with rationally.  No, what Shyster found more distressing was that no matter how heated things got, the Count never seemed to actually do anything about it.  By tomorrow, he would’ve all but forgotten the swamp witch’s insolence, and it wouldn’t trouble him until the next time he actually had to speak with her.  But it festered in the Baron all the time.  He often wondered if more decisive steps ought to be taken.  A ruler with a firmer hand might’ve done it.  But Mickey?  Well.  It was troubling.  Very troubling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For his part, Mickey was troubled too - but it faded almost as fast as he trotted down the steps and outside into the moonlight.  It was a gorgeous night and he inhaled the misty air deeply.  That was more like it.  He set off through the courtyard at a brisk pace, letting the familiar sight of the forbidding topiaries and fountains carved with menacing gargoyles cheer him up, as they always did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In many ways, Mickey couldn’t have been much farther from how the forest folk imagined him - which was mostly tall and stonily ancient looking, sallow, thin cheeked, long limp fingers, pristine coat and vest - and so on.  In reality, the figure that strolled out under the moon had a spring in his step.  Ruddy and alert, with nice round ears and a perpetually moon-burnt nose, pale blue eyes in a shockingly round, youthful face, comfortably below the average height, although it was best not to mention that part.  But he was strong and athletic and frankly, quite a handsome little fellow, if your taste ran to little fellows in the first place.  He did have a very nice vest and coat on, but the vest had one of the buttons in the wrong buttonhole, which he hadn’t noticed yet, and the coat had a bloodberry stain on the cuff, which he had noticed, but was pretending not to.  He wasn’t a slob or anything, there were just so many better things to do than keeping one’s clothes tidy all day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For example, there was pestering one’s friends.  He wondered if Donald was still following that Daisy girl around, trying to get into her good graces.  Might as well go and see what he was up to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused on the bluff, looking down over the valley and the forest beyond.  He could see lights flickering amongst the trees, and wondered briefly if one of them belonged to the witch.  Geez.  He really shouldn’t let her get to him like that.  Maybe Shyster had made a point without even knowing it.  Mickey believed firmly in talking plain and speaking your mind, but he didn’t quite know why he always seemed to go all to pieces when he talked to that swamp witch.  Nobody else got under his skin like that.  Heck.  What was the big deal, anyway?  If she wanted some dumb old book, why should he care?  But then he remembered that little sparkly laugh of hers and he flushed all over again.  That was right - it wasn’t his fault she was always so demanding and - and - and disrespectful, yeah, like Shyster said.  Well, he’d shot her straight down, that was what counted, and maybe it would teach her a lesson.  He shoved off and went to find Donald, resolved to put the whole thing out of his mind.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Minnie the Witch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Deep in the forest, in the darkest part of the swamp where the sun never reached, was a big crooked house with a sharply steepled roof.  No two planes seemed to meet at the right angles, and the whole thing looked as though it might very well topple in on itself at any moment, but in fact, it had stood very sturdily right where it was for maybe a hundred centuries, for all anybody knew.  One wall was built right up against a massive tree, so that house and tree seemed to have grown entangled with each other over time.  There were toadstools glowing in the windows, casting their faint green and blue light over the murky water.  It was a perfectly peaceful and spooky house, and inside it, Minerva Nettlemouse was stomping her little feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooo!  Snakes and spiders!  Oh, he makes me so mad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her only companion in the room, a dog-faced goblin about as tall and crooked as the house itself, shook his head.  “Y’know what? I don’t think he’s gonna let us have that book back,” he announced sadly.  Minnie shot him a sharp look, but it softened almost immediately and she sighed.  It wasn’t Goofy’s fault, to start with, and besides that, he was right.  Her shoulders slumped, and Minnie trudged sadly away from the mirror to slump into a big wicker chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever the folks on Spire Mountain thought of the swamp witch, not a one of them had ever pictured her correctly.  She was so tiny that her high-buttoned boots dangled well off the floor in her own chairs, like they were doing now.  Her hair was a wild mass of springy curls that were always popping up in one direction or another like a tangle of gnarled branches.  She was dressed like a witch, there was no mistaking that, all uneven hems and varied fabrics, like leaves and petals sticking out all over her.  But there was absolutely no denying the fact that she was strikingly pretty, beautiful even.  Dainty and delicate, with big dark brown eyes and a rosebud mouth that was just as bewitching when she pouted as when she smiled.  She was pouting right now, in fact.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goofy regarded her with sympathy.  He was the neighborhood’s eminent frog-catcher, even though he had a heck of a time catching any frogs.  You had to keep them in check, because otherwise you’d wake up to see their beady eyes looking down at you from the headboard, or you’d go to your cupboard and there they would be, gurgling softly.  Pests, they were, so you caught them and you dumped them back in the swamp -or you tried to.  Goofy did his best, and nobody had the heart to try and dissuade him, least of all Minnie.  So while you couldn’t say the frog problem was exactly managed, you could sure say Goofy was working on it.  He had his net over his shoulder at that moment, in fact, although he lowered it now to lean against it as Minnie rubbed her eyes, groaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohhh, I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Goofy.  I should’ve asked for the book first, instead of trying to just sneak it along at the end.  I don’t know why I always lose my temper.”  In spite of this lament, she bolted upright in the next moment, making Goofy jump.  “Oo, I can’t STAND that Count!  I don’t think he listens to a word I have to say half the time, and the other half he’s just awful on purpose.”  She fell back again, face twisting once again into sorrow.  “...I shouldn’t have said that about his pig-head, even if it IS true.  He’ll never give me that book now, and I’m sure it’s the only copy of the spell to turn rotten meat fresh and the one to capture the light of the full moon in a prism.  Ohh, the werefolk would’ve been so happy!  And now I’ve spoiled it all for everyone.”  She lay back in misery for a few seconds.  Goofy shifted his feet, then jumped again as she sat up once more, pounding her fists on the chair’s arms.  “No, HE’S spoiled it all!  OOOH!”  She let her head fall back.  Goofy watched her warily, until at last she sighed deeply and opened her eyes.  “...What in the world am I going to do now?” she asked, much more softly.  Goofy relaxed, because he immediately knew how to answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gosh - I dunno.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> could tell ya what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Minnie was just as startled as Goofy.  She sat up straight once more, giving a little squeak.  A hulking figure eased out of the shadowy doorway, and although Minnie’s expression shifted from surprise to recognition, she didn’t feel much happier about it.  “Pete!  What have I told you about coming in my house without knocking first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete gave a toothy grin.  “Terribly sorry, M’lady.  I guess I just forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, try harder to remember.”  Minnie regarded her new guest unhappily.  Ever since she’d first assumed responsibility as the guardian of the forest, she’d worked very hard to look after everyone and treat them all equally, with respect and kindness, whether she liked them personally or not.  Most of the time, this was easy to do, because Minnie really did like nearly everyone.  Pete, however, was one of the few exceptions.  He was an enormous werecat, nearly as wide as he was tall, with fists like hams and arms like tree trunks.  Plenty of the werefolk were big, especially compared to Minnie, but none of them made her feel small the way Pete did.  She tried to imagine it wasn’t on purpose, but a part of her always insisted it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure, sure - but’cha know, I couldn’t help overlistenin’ just now -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure,” Minnie frowned.  Pete didn’t appear to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If ya really want them stiffs up on th’mountain ta pay attention to ya, best way to do it is to remind ‘em of just who makes the rules around here anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifted a brow. “And just who would that be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, us, a’course!”  Pete tapped his chest.  “Us forest folk!  Them uppity batbrains have been pushin’ us around for years now.  I say we lay it all out on th’table.  Push back a little bit!  I say we march right up there an’ TAKE what’s ours, see what that Count has to say about it with two or three dozen of our biggest guys starin ‘im right in the eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you’ve been saying that for years now, too.  And I won’t have it, Pete.”  Minnie dropped to the floor and drew her shoulders back firmly.  “Whatever you may think of him, Count Mickey’s a force to be reckoned with, and furthermore, I won’t take the risk of starting another full-blown war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“War, schmore! A little violence never hurt nobody.  Besides, who says this guy’s so tough, huh?  I’d like ta see how tough he is when I snap his fangs clean off with one finger - pop! Pop!”  He flicked a finger in Goofy’s direction to demonstrate.  Goofy, who had rather pronounced buck teeth himself, grimaced.  Pete gave a throaty laugh, but Minnie didn’t look one bit amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There isn’t going to be any violence.  I absolutely forbid it!  The Count may be frustrating to deal with but we’re just all going to have to live with it, and that includes you, Pete.  And by the way: if I find out you’ve put one toe near the graveyard again, you’re not going to have to worry about causing any more trouble because I’ll make so much of it for you, you won’t know what to do with it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete’s look became shifty immediately.  “Th’ - th’ graveyard?  Why, I dunno what yer -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t play dumb.  The Count’s rangers saw you, and I know it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.  What were you thinking?  Do you know how hard it is to try and negotiate with him already without you going and stirring up the pot?  Now, I mean it!”  She waved a finger up at him before he could get out a word.  “You stay away from that place and I don’t want to hear any more about it!  Now go on home.  I’ve got a lot of work to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete scowled, but turned and departed without further argument.  Minnie breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she heard the front door shut behind him.  Time to invest in a good big deadbolt, maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she could’ve known what Pete was muttering to himself as he stalked away, she might not’ve felt so relieved at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Rotten vampires an’ their rotten spies.  Gettin’ pretty tired of gettin’ bossed around, that’s all, bad enough those bloodsuckers sittin’ pretty up on high, I ain’t gotta listen to any lil’ girl push me around, witch or no witch.  Stirrin’ up th’ pot.  Some crummy witch, what else is a witch supposed to do but stir pots up?  That’s what we need around this place, a real witch who ain’t afraid of a lil’ pot-stirrin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crashed off into the woods, still grumbling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back in the house, Goofy crouched to continue stalking a particularly cunning specimen who’d made itself at home amongst Minnie’s pots and pans, which was the reason he’d come over in the first place.  She sat at the table with her cheek propped on one hand, watching him.  Every so often, she’d sigh deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yoo-hoo!  Minnie!  Anybody home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the kitchen, Clarabelle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, there you are!”  Clarabelle tromped in and stopped in the doorway.  “I just came by to - say, what’s the matter, dearie?  You look sorter peaked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing.”  Minnie sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.”  Clarabelle’s wide mouth spread out wider.  “Well, I jus’ came to tell you that Horace’ll have all the bloodberries for Up There ready right on time, no trouble.  Real nice lookin’ bunch it’ll be this month, too, not that they deserve ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh - that’s wonderful news,” said Minnie, who didn’t sound like the news was so wonderful at all.  “I just spoke to Count Mickey and his people will be prepared to make the trade on schedule, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah-ha! So that’s it, is it?  I knew it.  That’s th’reason yer all outer sorts.  It’s that ol’ leech again, suckin’ th’ life out of you.”  Clarabelle huffed, helping herself to a seat near the fireplace.  “Were ya able t’wrestle that book you were talkin’ about outta him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.  We just made each other angry again and I’m sure he’ll never give it to me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darn it!  Some folks just can’t control their temper worth two beetles,” scoffed Clarabelle, who had about the most explosive temper of anybody Minnie knew.  “Well, I’m sure it weren’t your fault.  Those Up There folk just can’t act proper.  Now if I had my way, I’d just set everybody down and get ‘em to talk reasonable.  An’ if they wouldn’t talk reasonable I’d knock their blocks together until they did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie smiled in spite of herself.  Clarabelle went on with her outline of how things ought to go, but Minnie’s thoughts drifted.  That would be nice, wouldn’t it, just to have one reasonable conversation, like reasonable people.  She was sure she could make the Count listen to her if she had a real chance, if she could just look him in the eye and say -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goofy’s net was poised in midair.  He brought it crashing down with a yelp at the sound of Minnie’s voice.  There was a wild clatter of metal, stone and wood, and at the end of it, Goofy lay blinking in a pile of pots and spare cauldrons, blinking in mild shock.  He’d ensnared his own head somehow, and he wore a pot on one knee and another on one foot.  He cleared his throat with dignity, and shook off the pot on his knee, before working to disentangle his head.  “Sorry - what were you sayin’, Miss Minnie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got it, I know what I have to do.  Maybe Pete was right about one thing after all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete was here?” Clarabelle wrinkled her nose.  “That big brute?  I wish you wouldn’t invite him around here, honey.  I don’t like the way he looks at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t invite him, Clarabelle, he just came.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what did he want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A ruckus, that’s what.  Same as always.  But look, the point is, he actually said something that makes sense - sort of.  About marching up there if we want what’s ours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Clarabelle gasped.  “Go to war with the Count?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not like that.  I mean - go up there and just talk to him!  Face to face!”  Minnie’s brown eyes sparkled like twin stars in the firelight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go up there?”  Goofy gulped.  “You mean - Spire Mountain?  But we ain’t allowed up there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?  We’ve all promised not to trespass through the graveyard, but Haunted Valley doesn’t belong to the Count, it’s just as much ours as his.  And there isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically</span>
  </em>
  <span> any rule about going on the mountain, just like there’s no rule that says vampires aren’t allowed in the forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but they’d be frightful unwelcome, just like you’d be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then I’ll travel alone.  Quietly, so it won’t cause a fuss.  But I’ve got every right to talk to the Count if I want to - so why shouldn’t I go to his castle? He’ll have to grant me an audience, and once I’m there, I’ll just tell him - I’ll just say - ‘now see here, Count Mickey, I’ve come all this way and’ - and then he’ll have to give me the book!  I’ll be right there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right there for him to sink his horrible fangs right into you.”  Clarabelle shook her head.  “I hate the thought of it, I really do.  I’m sure Horace’d say the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” Minnie acknowledged.  “But I’ve made up my mind.  I should’ve done it years ago.  I’ve let him hide behind that mirror for too long. It’s time to stop this foolishness, once and for all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dear.  I’d feel a lot better if you had some protection.  Horace could go along - although the dear fool’d probably cause more trouble than he’d stop.  Or Goofy, even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Oh - yeah!”  Goofy had succeeded at last in freeing himself from the mess he’d made of Minnie’s kitchen.  He straightened up and saluted sharply, nearly smacking himself in the eye with the handle of his frog-catching net.  “I’ll take care of ya, ma’am!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie gave him a warm smile.  “Aw, thank you, Goofy.  But it won’t be necessary.  I’m sure the Count wouldn’t really hurt me.  That’d mean a fight for sure, and I’m positive however little sense he has, it’s at least enough to avoid that.  Besides, I’ll have my spells - and my broomstick, in a pinch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t like the thought of it.  Not one bit.  I don’t care if ya are the Guardian of the Forest, yer a wee mite of a girl and goodness only knows what might happen to you out there.”  Clarabelle crossed her arms and looked almost sulky.  “...But If yer set on trudgin’ up that accursed mountain, I know hell nor high water will stop you.  Ain’t got an ounce more sense than any of the rest of these yoohoos around here when you get set on a thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie puffed out her cheeks, but she couldn’t really be angry.  Clarabelle’d been one of her dearest friends since forever, and she’d always treated Minnie less as a superior and more as a favored niece.  Minnie liked that, and liked Clarabelle, even when she was difficult.  She always did have your best interest in mind.  So Minnie scooted over and gave her a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be all right, Clarabelle!  I promise.  If there’s even a whiff of danger, I’ll come straight home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph!  You better,” Clarabelle huffed, although she was obviously softened by the gesture, and gave Minnie a breathtaking squeeze in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, an’ if you change yer mind, y’know you can always count on me!” added Goofy, bending to return to his frog-stalking.  He paused.  “But - confirdentially speakin’, I wouldn’t put my big toe on that mountain if it weren’t fer your protection.  Heck, I wouldn’t put my </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>toe on it.”  He struck the floor with the butt of his net for emphasis, or intended to - but it landed in one of the fallen pots with a loud clang.  “Yow!  Er - uhyuck!  Oops.”  He chortled bashfully.  Minnie shook her head fondly, but her thoughts were already elsewhere, heart pounding.  Tomorrow night, she would climb the mountain, and then Count Mickey would really have to reckon with her.  In person!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time the moon came up the next night, Minnie’s excitement had faded a little.  Or, if not that, at least it was tempered now with a good degree of apprehension.  The conversations she’d originally played out in her mind were all very satisfying, but with the trek up the mountain now immediately before her, what was really going to prevent things from going as poorly in person as they always seemed to from a distance?  Well, Minnie, herself, that was what.  She was the mistress of her own fate, wasn’t she?  It was no use getting cold feet now; she had to cling to her original theory, which was that Count Mickey wouldn’t be able to dismiss her so easily if she put her foot down, literally, and refused to allow it - politely, but firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She set off right on time.  Feeling it was best not to draw attention to herself, she traveled on foot, shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak that was similar to what Minnie hoped was still considered in fashion on the mountain. She only paused once, right at the edge of the woods, and looked out across the Haunted Valley towards the graveyard and the mountain beyond. Her thoughts had been cheerful and exciting along the forest path, but those daydreams fell silent now. She couldn’t help picturing it - hundreds of monsters biting and clawing and slashing at each other among the tombstones and ruins. She shuddered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie crossed the valley as quickly as she could, taking care to stay clear of the graveyard itself. Even so, Minnie couldn’t help glancing up at the looming mountain and wondering if the Count’s rangers were watching her every step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She found the main road up the mountainside easily enough. It was wide and well-marked with nearly-carved wooden signposts. It might’ve even looked welcoming, if not for the fact that the road was blocked at its entry point by a mass of brambles, tree branches and rubble. There were even a few stumps so massive, it would’ve taken three people to move them, easily, even with ropes, unless you used magic. Minnie examined it all with dismay as she approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s all this about? Why is this road barricaded?” she demanded aloud.  Of course, there was nobody there to answer, so she examined the situation from all sides before shaking her head.  It must’ve been the Up There folks.  A childish, unfriendly gesture, that was all.  But...why?  Didn’t they use this road themselves?  It really didn’t make any sense at all. Well, they would have to clean it up somehow. And soon - the monthly goods exchange was coming up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crashed through the bushes, holding her skirts, until she was finally past the roadblock, and able to rejoin the road to continue on her way. It wasn’t easy, as the trailhead was carved into the rock itself, and hemmed in pretty tightly on both sides. It would’ve been an awfully tight pinch for anyone larger than Minnie, which was nearly everyone. Whoever had blocked the road had certainly succeeded if their goal was to be an awful nuisance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite this poor beginning, the journey up the mountain was surprisingly pleasant. The route was steep, but not unmanageable, and as it twisted back and forth, the view of the valley and forest were lovely. Minnie felt rather proud of how lovely the woods looked in the moonlight. Of course, it was the mountain that provided the wonderful vantage point, which wasn’t lost in her. A shame one couldn’t climb up and enjoy it whenever one wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The main village on the mountain was nestled safely on a broad plateau below the sharp peak. The Count’s castle stood on a ridge a little beyond and higher, looking down over it all. By the time Minnie neared the village, the moon was high overhead, and the village was, if not bustling, then at least obviously active. Ghouls and spectres drifted in and out of shops, vampires strolled out on their balconies, while giggling children chased each other around. It wasn’t so terribly different from the clearing in the glen back home, actually, apart from the bright glow of moonlight- and all the vampires and such, naturally. But it was certainly cozy and dark, and the shadows appropriately menacing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie almost bumped into someone once.  She was trying to stay out of the main square, and a girl emerged from one of the side streets just as she passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  Excuse me.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My fault.”  Minnie studied her for a moment.  She was terribly elegant, dressed all in purple.  Her bare neck and arms were snowy-pale and so was her hair, which was done in a gorgeous twist, falling over her shoulder.  Minnie couldn’t help admiring her, even as the girl gave her a curious look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you lost or anything?” she asked, and Minnie recalled her business with a little blush.  She must’ve looked very out of place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?  Oh, no.  I know where I’m going. A-and I’d better get there.”  She trotted off. “...But thank you!” she added over her shoulder, taking one last look at the pretty girl and her gown.  Was she a vampire too?  Minnie hadn’t noticed any fangs.  But she was lovely, whatever or whoever she was.  It would’ve been nice to talk to her a little - Minnie had so few friends who even appeared to be around her own age.  The other witches were nice, but they didn’t have too much interest in things like gowns.  But oh, well.  Minnie was too busy to worry about such things, anyway.  She was almost there - Count Mickey’s castle.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Count Mickey Handles Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Okay, so - lemme get this straight.”  Mickey squinted.  “You.” He pointed at the unhappy-looking vampire to his left, name of Alphonse.  “...Are mad at him.” He jabbed a thumb at the equally angry vampire to his right.  Name, Calliver.  “Because he went down to the mortal village and changed into a bat and spooked the night watchman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Alphonse shot a poisonous look at his neighbor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey stared at them both for a long second, before shrugging his shoulders blankly.  “...So what’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The problem is that I announced my intention last week of changing into a bat and spooking the night watchman myself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey felt Donald, his best friend, shift at his elbow.  They’d been walking through town together when Alphonse had spotted Mickey, and stopped him to address this clearly pressing issue.  Donald had been impatient to start with, and now his webbed foot was tapping impatiently on the cobblestones.  Mickey let his lower lip fall forward.  “Mmmkay...so go ahead?  If the watchman was scared of one bat, won’t two bats be even scarier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!”  Alphonse stomped his foot.  “Don’t you see?  That’s the entire issue!  Calliver spooked him SO bad he went and bought a new cat and the wretched animal is extremely agile!  It’s no good changing into a bat now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soooo… haunt the village in human shape?  Stare at him from the shadows?  Follow him just outta sight?”  Mickey gestured broadly.  There were a million ways to frighten mortals.  But Alphonse gritted his teeth as Calliver stood looking smug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t WANT to haunt the village in human shape, I WANTED to fly there as a BAT.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, boy-yoy-yoy,” Donald grumbled.  Alphonse did not hear him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey, I really must protest.  If a respected citizen can’t expect anyone to have a sense of manners and decency around here, then I really don’t know what will become of it all, I really don’t.  We’ll be no better off than those filthy beasts in the swamp.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey frowned at that.  At least, he thought, the beasts in the swamp didn’t get their capes all in a twist because one of their neighbors was quicker on the draw when it came to terrorizing the mortals.  If they did, maybe he ought to have more sympathy for the Witch than he’d supposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,”  Mickey rubbed his temples.  “Look.  Calliver, don’t go stealin’ people’s spookin’ ideas, it ain’t polite.  An’ Alphonse, why doncha just let the cat chase ya off someplace then transform back an’ jump out an’ hiss at him an’ stuff?  He’ll probably never wanna chase a bat again for his whole life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alphonse’s face brightened.  “Say, that’s - that’s a good idea!  That’s - of course!  Why didn’t I think of that?  Marvelous!”  Mickey smiled tiredly, offering a little wave as the two neighbors departed, he headed for home too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good grief,” Donald exploded, almost before they were even out of earshot.  “What a bunch of babies.  What’s the matter with people around here anyways?  Haven’t they got anything better to worry about?  Now, anyways, Mickey, ol’ pal, what was I saying before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey bit back a snide remark, smiling instead.  “You were tellin’ me all yer lady troubles, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah!  Well, whaddya think of my plan, pretty smart, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmmmaybe,” Mickey hedged.  “I dunno, Donald.  Have ya tried just … talkin’ to her, maybe?  Or givin’ her a present or somethin’?  Girls like presents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you know?  You never had a girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Neither have you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Mickey didn’t say.  He just shrugged.  “Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everybody</span>
  </em>
  <span> likes presents.  An’ it seems less risky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s so risky about my idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, I dunno, I just feel like jumpin’ out at people’s bound to get you the same reception as that ol’ tomcat we were just talkin’ about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head.  “Naw, you’re crazy.  She won’t be able to help noticing how she keeps bumping into me.  I’ll fascinate her, you’ll see.  Ooo!  Is that her over there now?  See ya around, Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, pal.  Happy fascinatin’.”  He shook his head as Donald scuttled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was always something, he reflected when he finally arrived back home, flopping sideways into a comfortable chair in the parlor - it never ended.  Mickey didn’t mind helping people sort through their problems.  He liked solving problems!  But it wore him out how often folks’ troubles seemed to be entirely of their own making.  He got himself into plenty of scraps too, but the thing with Mickey was that he also got himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> of them again.  It was that second part which seemed to stump folks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Your Grace - you’ve returned.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey stifled a groan.  Shyster.  Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a guy who could stand to invent a few less problems.  He was approaching now even as Mickey dug a book out of the chair’s cushions and tried to look as though he was already engrossed in it.  “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been waiting for you to return.  A distressing report reached me this morning and I really think you need to address this situation immediately.  It appears that some of those ruffians from Down Back have blocked off the main road at the base of the mountain. Made an enormous mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaaat?” Mickey put the book down.  “What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster shrugged his thin shoulders.  “Who can say?  Possibly retaliation for your refusal to yield to the caprices of the Swamp Witch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>yield to her caprices, didn’t I? I took her deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, but denied her additional presumptions. And now…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think she ordered her goons to block the road?”  He wrinkled his nose.  “But that’s just dumb.  How does she think we get alla their moonquartz down to the valley in the first place, huh?  You sure it wasn’t just some kids or somethin’?”  He raised his brows.  “Anybody seen them nephews of Donald’s lately?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hardly think children could’ve managed something like this, it would require far greater strength.  Besides, most of the rubble is nothing you could even find on the mountain.  Plant matter and such.  It was clearly dragged in from the forest.  So I’m told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.”  Mickey sat upright, drumming his fingers on his knees.  “...It just doesn’t make any sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I warned you about her, Your Grace.  She’s been growing bolder of late.  Yesternight’s matter of the moonquartz proves it.” When Mickey cocked a brow, he bent forward slightly. “She’s testing you, Your Grace.  Seeing how far she can push you.”  He paused.  “...I suppose, perhaps, she believes you’re...what’s the expression?  ‘All bark and no bite’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Mickey mull over that with a dark expression, before the young count finally smacked a fist on his knee.  He hopped down from the chair and swept into the study where the enchanted mirror hung on the wall.  Shyster followed behind him, standing silently by as Mickey crossed his arms over his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna talk to the witch!  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Count’s castle was much bigger up close than it had appeared from the forest’s edge. Minnie felt very tiny indeed as she approached it.  She was thankful, at least, that there didn’t seem to be anybody around, but that didn’t mean no one was watching.  Every window might’ve had hostile eyes behind it.  Maybe Clarabelle had been right all along.  It was foolish to come all alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned away, took a couple deep breaths.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘...Don’t be frightened.  He’s just a big blowhard.  You’ve come all this way!’</span>
  </em>
  <span>  She faced the castle.  Her face fell.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh, but… what if he gets angry?  He takes everything so personally.  And there’s everyone else to think of.  They’re counting on me.  I have to talk to him.  ….But what if I only make things worse?’</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Minnie shook her head, covering her face with her hands.  “Oh!  I don’t know what to do. I wish I’d never come.”  She looked up at the castle again, watched as candlelight flickered from within.  It was so silent and still - so unlike the forest which was always alive and in motion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned away again.  “I can’t.  I can’t do it.  I’m just a coward, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something buzzed inside her traveling bag.  Startled, Minnie snatched at it, looking around to make sure no one was there, before she opened it up, rifling through the contents until she withdrew a tiny compact with a beautiful engraving on the lid - a skull crowned with flowers and bugs.  She flipped it open to look into the mirror inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarabelle?  What’s the matter?  I told you not to contact me unless it was an emergency!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It IS an emergency!”  Clarabelle hissed, glancing back over her shoulder.  “...Count Mickey’s calling!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Minnie paled.  The count never called outside of their regularly scheduled meetings, unless it was to complain about something.  Clarabelle’s frightened face filled the whole mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t suppose he knows, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not, that’s impossible!”  But Minnie still shot a look over her shoulder at the silent castle, moving a little further off the path to stand in the shadow of a dead tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what are we gonna do?  He won’t stop tryin’ to get through!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie chewed on her lower lip for a second before making up her mind.  “...Patch the connection through.  I’ll just pretend I’m home like always and see what he wants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Minnie said firmly, before she could change her mind.  Clarabelle sighed heavily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aaaall riiiight….”  Her face faded away and the compact mirror rippled a moment before the indistinct form of the count replaced it - naturally, even tinier and fuzzier than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello!  Hello!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to shout, Count Mickey,” Minnie said primly, hastily turning herself so that the castle couldn’t possibly be visible behind her, even though nothing was really visible at all.  “I can hear you perfectly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally!  What took ya so long?” the Count snapped, his voice crackling and spitting in the tiny mirror.  Minnie’s lips turned pouty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not at your beck and call, you know.  Our scheduled discussion was </span>
  <em>
    <span>yesterday</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  What’s this all about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about - why’s yer voice so scratchy?  Issit a bad connection or what?  Cripes, it’s even worse than usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie felt a rush of heat rise in her cheeks.  “Sometime tonight, IF you please!  I’m very busy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll jus’ bet you’ve been busy. What’s th’ big idea, anyhow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat vanished, replaced by a little chill.  Minnie glanced guiltily back at the castle again.  Dark. Silent.  Impossible!  “Wh...wh-what are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know darn well what I’m talkin’ about.  D’ya think I don’t know what’s goin’ on in my own territory?  Well if you think I’m just gonna sit an’ take it, you’ve got another thing comin’.  You can just forget about ten pounds of moonquartz this month or any other month.  You’ll take seven AN’ I wanna see th’ mountain road spic’ an’ span when my folks come to make the trade or the whole deal’s off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Minnie shrieked.  “We already settled the terms!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, an’ now I’m unsettlin’ ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t do that! We have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>treaty!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoulda thought of that b’fore you blocked off yer own main trade artery, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I didn’t - wait - is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>what this is all about?” Minnie held the compact up to the light, as if this would help give her a better view, which of course it did not.  “I didn’t have anything to do with that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh.  Then how come it sounds like ya know all about it?  Trade ain’t happened yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drats.  He had her there.  There was no reason for anyone from Evernight Forest to be on the far side of the valley last night.  “...I have scouts too,” she said at last. “But more importantly, I know perfectly well what I did and didn’t tell my people to do.  And I didn’t tell anyone to block the mountain road!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure ya didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the truth!”  She stomped her foot.  “How do I know you didn’t have it done yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B’cause I’m not stupid,” he snapped back.  “Why would I block my own road?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How should I know?  Just told ya </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> ain’t stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm!  Well, you certainly talk a lot, then, for someone who doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well I know one of us is a liar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not lying!  You - you - horrible old piece of leather!”  Minnie could’ve flown into the air, she was so frustrated.  Literally, perhaps; she knew a spell for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s COUNT old piece of leather t’YOU, witch!  I’m not gonna take any more of yer lip, ya hear?  So you ken just - just - suck on a junebug!  An’ that’s FINAL!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey-!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He broke the connection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Minnie had never been more angry in her life.  If she was safe at home, she probably would’ve screamed, but since she didn’t dare take the chance, she slammed the compact shut and stuffed it into her bag, scrubbing her hands through her wild hair until it was even bigger than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That rat - that fiend.  He couldn’t do this.  It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right.  He wasn’t just cheating her, he was cheating everyone in Evernight Forest, and just as bad, he was accusing them unfairly.  What he needed was a world-historical telling off, and if Minnie could’ve gotten her hands on him, she - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was right.  She </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> get her hands on him.  She was right outside his castle.  Minnie whirled around, yanking the hood back so that her hair sprang free in all its tangled glory.  Talk to her like that, would he?  All fear - and probably some of her better judgement - was gone.  Minnie’s jaw jutted out at an adversarial angle, and she marched back onto the path and straight up to the towering castle doors.  When she reached them, she paused a moment, regarding them with fire and disgust, and then she raised her fists and began hammering them against the wood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Phew!  Guess I told her,” Mickey remarked, passing Shyster to return to his comfortable chair in the study.  Shyster nodded slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll think twice b’fore she tries to step outta line again,” Mickey added, settling down with his legs thrown over the chair arm, tucking his hands behind his head.  “Gosh, I’m beat.  Heh!  Jus’ wish I coulda seen her face, that’s all.  Oh, well.”  He wriggled down a little deeper, then paused, lifting a brow, as Shyster lingered in the doorway.  “...Did you need somethin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah...no, Your Grace.  Just musing, that’s all. I’ll see myself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Mickey replied, a little brutally.  Truth be told, he often wondered to himself whether Shyster still had his own house or if it had tumbled to ruins sometime during daylight.  He always seemed to be hanging around, whether he was invited or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster did head downstairs, and probably would’ve actually left.  Before he ever got that far, however, his thoughts were interrupted by an unholy racket.  Something or someone was pounding on the castle’s front doors.  Shyster frowned.  He already thought the Count was far too chummy with the villagers, totally dismissive of rank and propriety.  His handling of the witch was a step in the right direction but still - childish.  And now someone was making a scene outside the front door, which nobody was going to open, because of the Count’s absurd refusal to properly staff the castle with servants.  Shyster swept to the doors and - with effort, due to their size - lifted the bolt and cracked them open just enough to see what on earth was going on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside, Minnie was still raining blows on the doors, and was shouting over the noise of her own racket.  “Count Mickey!  Open this door!  Open-this-door-at-once!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door did open.  Just a little, with a resounding creak.  Startled, Minnie hopped back a step or two, her heart leaping into her throat and pounding wildly.  This was it.  It was really happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A face emerged from the shadows.  As the features became visible, Minnie felt her heart, which had risen so quickly, sink all the way down to her toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.  Oh, no.  It was as bad as she’d always supposed.  No, it was worse.  The face which she saw was creased with frown lines, pinched and unpleasant.  Cold, squinting eyes, a pursed, sneering mouth, drooping ears.  A weak chin over a high, starched collar.  The hand that rested on the door to hold it was thin and spidery and most certainly clammy.  The foot that rested on the step was wearing a boot that pinched the toes inside it.  He was horrible.  Just awful.  One of the most unhappy, unfriendly-looking people Minnie had ever seen in her life.  She had always known he must be, and yet until this moment, she’d never known how much she’d hoped it would be different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...C-Count Mickey,” she forced herself to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His frown deepened immediately.  “Who are you?” he demanded, before she could go on.  His voice sounded very different than it had through the mirror, but that was to be expected.  Er, wasn’t it?  It was always a little hollow and distant, but now she realized that, in the flesh, it was nasal and reedy and sneery.  Terrible! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled her shoulders back and tried to look brave.  “...I’m Goodwitch Minerva Nettlemouse, of course.  I’ve come to speak with you </span>
  <em>
    <span>personally</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  It’s about -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shut the door in her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie was shocked, but only for a moment.  Then she was angry again, angry and a little bit hurt that such a person could make her feel so angry, should cause her so much trouble, and should look at her with such ...</span>
  <em>
    <span>contempt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  And she was angry with herself too, angry that somehow she’d let herself believe coming up here would change anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well.  She wasn’t going to let him get away with it.  Not when he’d said such horrible things to her not ten minutes ago.  She sprang forward again, pounded on the doors with renewed vigor.  “Count Mickey!  You open these doors up at once!  I’ve come all this way and I’m not leaving until I’ve had my say!  Count Mickey - !”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baron Shyster turned away from the doors and walked, in silence, back the way he’d come: through the great hall, up the stairs, around the corner, into the study, where Mickey was still slung across his armchair, cheek propped on one hand, leafing through a picture book.  Like an infant.  Shyster’s jaw pulsed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Shyster.  Yer still here,” Mickey observed dully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”  The Baron let a moment pass.  “...Lord Mickey...the swamp witch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, geez.”  Mickey tossed the book aside and rubbed his eyes.  “Look, wouldja STOP worryin’ about the swamp witch?  I told her right off jus’ now, you heard me.”  He replayed the conversation in his mind a moment and looked smug, before returning to the present with a little flourish of his hand.  “So that’s all settled an’ I doubt we’ll have any more trouble with her anytime soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster raised a brow.  “...She’s at the door, Your Grace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had, at least, the satisfaction of seeing Mickey’s attention captured at last.  He did a double-take, and the lazy bobbing of his foot stopped.  “Wh - at - what door?  At MY door?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Your Grace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The swamp witch is at my door?  Right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster pursed his mouth, tongue running over his fangs.  “Mm-hmm.  Demanding an audience.  You … might be able to hear her kicking it - the door - if you listen carefully.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey stared at him for a good five seconds before he began scrambling to gather his limbs back upright.  “...Aw HECK, no.  That’s the last straw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sprang from the chair, throwing his cloak out of the way behind himself as he made a beeline for the door.  “I’ll settle her once and for all.  What kinda a nerve she’s got - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was gone in an instant, angry muttering trailing behind him.  Shyster bit back a faint smile.  Mickey really looked properly furious.  This, he hoped, was progress.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Count Grants an Interview</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mickey blazed through the great hall, steaming hot.  Unbelievable.  Just impossible.  From the base of the staircase, he could hear the thumping and pounding, sure enough, and as he got closer, he could hear her voice too, right through the wood.  The strangeness of hearing it in the flesh didn’t quite strike him in the moment; he was too mad.  Good night.  Who did she think she was, anyway?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey!”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bang bang bang.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “Count Mickey!!  I demand you open up this door!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a growl, Mickey snatched both door handles and, with none of the effort it had taken Baron Shyster, he yanked the doors open with such force that the rush of air caught his cape and flung it out behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now see HERE, ya old bag -!” he snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hopped back with a little squeak as the doors crashed open, but Minnie was ready for a fight, and hearing his voice, she clenched her fists. “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> - see….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trailed off, bewildered, and all she could do was stare at him.  This was someone totally different, and she was even less prepared for what she saw than the last time.  Fortunately for her, Mickey didn’t notice, because he was too busy staring back.  Was this the swamp witch?  He knew her voice, or thought he did - it </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be her.  But that didn’t make any sense, she was …young and … petite and...she was....she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How long Mickey stood staring, he couldn’t really say, but eventually he remembered that he was supposed to be talking.  The only trouble was that he hadn’t got any idea of what he might’ve been going to say.  He tried to regather his momentum, but it was pretty pathetic.  “Wha...what...what’re you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie dropped her gaze.  Oh no, oh NO.  It was him.  Whatever doubt might’ve remained, she would’ve known that voice anywhere.  It was fuller and richer in person, with a boyish note she’d never been able to perceive before through the mirror’s distorted wobbles, but it was his.  It was far more pleasant in person, which was bad enough, but that wasn’t half so bad as the rest of it.  He was gorgeous.  He was so gorgeous it was embarrassing to look at him.  Minnie forced her eyes back up to his face.  OH.  His eyes were blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I came to talk to you in person,” she said, far too meekly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey swayed as if pushed.  Great ghosts.  She sounded so different.  Her voice was familiar, sure - unmistakable, in fact - but now, up close, it was soft and sweet and high and musical.  The night wind off the mountain caught her hair and made her curls bounce around her cheeks.  Her long lashes fluttered as she turned her face from it, and Mickey felt a sharp pain in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-oh really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood there again, two perfect morons, until another breeze blew across the plateau.  Minnie shivered, clutching at her cloak.  Mickey hopped back from the door.  “Well,  I guess you better come in,” he blurted, gesturing impatiently.  The witch blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh -?  A-all right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped inside, watching him a little warily, and he shut the doors behind her.  As her eyes adjusted to the light, Minnie looked around the great hall, trying to take in as many details as she could, as it might well be her only visit.  It was a pretty grand room, with high ceilings, towering candelabras, a gorgeous rug on the marbled floor, and several macabre paintings in ornate frames.  It wasn’t at all what she was used to, but there was a dark and sinister aura about the place which was very comfortable and pleasant.  She turned back to the Count, whose gaze snapped abruptly to some northeasterly direction as he cleared his throat.  “So.  Er.  What did you wanna talk about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked to her left.  “...Did you want to discuss it right here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.  Uh.”  He scratched his cheek, and cast a look around as if it was his first visit as well as hers.  “...Well, we could go up to the study, I guess.  Follow me.”  He turned away and Minnie had to pick up her skirts and trot to keep up with his pace.  She caught up by the time he reached the staircase, though, and they ascended together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a pretty long staircase.  Minnie was just trying to think of something to say, when they reached the top, and the sour-faced man from before emerged from the shadows on the upstairs landing.  She stopped short with a little gasp.  Mickey stopped too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!” the man began almost at once.  “I was just coming to check on things.  I trust you were able to dispatch the...witch?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as the words left his mouth, he caught sight of Minnie over Mickey’s shoulder, and his face betrayed his surprise.  Minnie met his gaze cooly as the count cleared his throat.  “Ah… y-yeah, about that.  This is her.  The witch.  Nettlemouse.  Y’know.”  Mickey bobbed his head in her direction.  “An’ I’m gonna hear her out, so.  S’cuse us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster’s face registered alarm.  “My Lord - !”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey pressed a hand to Minnie’s back lightly, which ordinarily she would’ve objected to.  Under the circumstances, however, she was just as glad to take the hint, and slip right past the gentleman with the count close behind.  “Thanks, Baron, that’ll be all.  Windy out there, better button up yer cape on th’ way home.  G’night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count -!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good NIGHT!” Mickey repeated, his voice rising in pitch.  The Baron’s jaw snapped shut, and he bowed - but he did not look happy.  Minnie couldn’t help feeling a little stab of satisfaction, although she wasn’t sure why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Count Mickey led them both down the corridor, and ushered her at last into a comfortable room with a huge fireplace at one end, several deep, cozy chairs, and a big desk covered with curios and arcane objects of every description.  It was fairly cluttered, but not in a way that seemed ill-cared for.  Rather, it seemed lived-in, or unlived-in, one might say.  On the western wall hung a large tarnished mirror, and Minnie realized with a little thrill that this must be the very room where he had stood all the times they’d spoken.  What a strange feeling to be standing here herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Count shut the door behind her, and for an instant, Minnie felt uneasy.  But he crossed the room without comment, opening a lavish liquor cabinet of glass and dark wood.  Oh, something like that would’ve been gorgeous for her potions, but perhaps a little out of place in her kitchen.  He produced a decanter of dark red liquid and removed the stopper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bloodberry cordial?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, thank you.  Personally, I can’t stand the stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted.  “Figures.”  Minnie frowned a little, but didn’t press the matter, just looked around the room as he poured himself a small glass and replaced the bottle.  “All right, so - h-here y’are, then.  What do you want?”  He took a sip of cordial and squinted.  “...An’ come to think of it, how’d ya get up here so fast?  Wasn’t I jus’ talkin’ to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie couldn’t hide a smile.  “Mm…Yes, but I have my little tricks and means.  I am a witch, after all.”  He didn’t seem to like this answer, but Minnie didn’t care.  It was a terrible shock, being confronted with that - that face and those restless strong hands which drummed against his glass and fidgeted with the clasp of his cape.  But she was growing more used to it.  Really.  “None of that is important right now.  I know how much you dislike having your time wasted, or so you always say.  I’d imagine you’re no happier to see me than your friend was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My friend?” He looked puzzled for a moment before it clicked.  “Oh, Baron Shyster?  Pffft.  He’s not my friend.  More of a … well…huh.  Not sure what you’d call it, exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your advisor?”  Minnie moved to look at a map of the mountain and valley that was spread across the desk.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess.”  If that included someone who gave advice when it wasn’t asked for.  He stepped to the desk and leaned a hand on it, blocking her view of the map, just in case.  In case of what, who knew.  But even this action was a little perilous, as it made her eyes dart up to his again, smacking him afresh with the full force of their beauty.  He swallowed, swirling the cordial in his glass uneasily.  “Anyway, if you don’t wanna waste my time, then what do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie watched as he rested his hip on the desk.  Was he trying to look attractive on purpose, just to fluster her?  Well, it wasn’t going to work.  She removed her cloak, laying it over a corner of the desk.  The dress she wore beneath it left her neck and shoulders bare; she didn’t notice the count’s grip on his glass tighten.  “I suppose I’d just like to know why you think you can take advantage of a lot of hard-working, honest people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know exactly what I’m talking about.  You can’t just unilaterally change the terms of our agreement, just because you’ve gotten your cape in a twist over something completely unrelated to the matter at hand.”  She stood before the fire a moment, warming her hands, before glancing back at him.  “Our agreement was ten pounds of moonquartz and you’ll deliver ten pounds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sputtered out a little incredulous laugh, and knocked back the rest of the cordial in one gulp.  “You - ya - “ he broke into a sharp whistle.  She was something else, that was for sure.  He shoved the glass onto the desk.  “This is startin’ to feel sorta like a bad dream, y’know that?  I speak my piece not a half hour ago, an’ now, outta nowhere, I’ve got you poundin’ on my door to make me say th’ same exact thing all over again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to say the same thing.  I want you to say you’ll honor our agreement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our - you’re the one who jacked up the price on us.  AND blocked off the pass!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you before, I didn’t have anything to do with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>somebody</span>
  </em>
  <span> blocked it off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but it wasn’t anyone from Evernight Forest, and it certainly wasn’t on my orders!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey opened his mouth.  A remark was trembling on his tongue which would’ve done no credit to either one of them, and ordinarily, it would’ve escaped.  But he watched the witch draw in a breath, her dainty hands clenching into fists.  She was bracing for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned towards the desk to gather his thoughts.  Good grief, was he the kind of guy who was gonna totally change his personality just because the girl in front of him was indescribably pretty?  She was still the same bothersome witch as ever, right?  He gritted his teeth.  “...Baron Sh - that is, my rangers reported that a buncha the junk on the road must’ve come from the Forest.  Stuff that don’t even grow up here.  So whaddya have to say about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  He turned to fix her with a hard stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was Minnie’s turn to open and close her mouth without speaking.  ...Was that true?  Obviously, her first impulse was to deny his accusations, but thinking back… she hadn’t seen any of the huge, gnarled trees she was used to back home, although that would certainly have matched up to the branches across the road.  The trees on the mountain were mostly pines, tall and straight - and she hadn’t noticed any brambles at all.  What if he was telling the truth about that part?  “I… I don’t know anything about that,” she said at last, but she didn’t sound as confident as before.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh </span>
  <em>
    <span>huh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Mickey crossed his arms.  “...That’s what I figured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie wrung her hands a little.  She often did, when she was upset, but Mickey’d never been there to witness it before.  Normally, at this point, he would be feeling pretty smug, since he clearly had the upper hand.  Watching her face fall, though, Mickey didn’t feel quite so good about it as he usually did.  Cripes.  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> that kind of guy, wasn’t he?  He squirmed a little, and was wondering if he ought to try and say something else, when Minnie lifted her chin and set her shoulders back firmly.  Her brown eyes caught the firelight and for a second, he felt that pinch in his chest again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.  I came here to talk reasonably.  So let’s be reasonable.  I’ll compromise with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey quirked a brow.  “How’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say you didn’t order the road closed off.  I know I didn’t order it.  Both of us agree we want it open.  So.  I’ll see that the path is cleared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Providin’...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Providing that you supply the ten pounds we agreed on for this month’s exchange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That - “  He hesitated.  That … did sound pretty reasonable, actually.  So reasonable he mistrusted it.  “Wait, how do I know you ain’t arranged all this just ta get th’ ten pounds in the first place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s mouth dropped open.  “That - are you serious?  Because you already agreed to give us the ten pounds before you found out the road was blocked!” she sputtered.  “Remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey blinked.  “...Oh yeah,” he acknowledged, smiling a little sheepishly.  “Guess I got a little mixed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie watched him, speechless, as he rubbed a hand over his head, shrugging his shoulders.  This?  This was the nefarious count who had cost her so many sleepless days?  Who was calculating and ruthless?  He was nibbling on his bottom lip with one prominent fang.  It was extremely cute.  She looked away.  “...Well, what’s your answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about?  Oh! Oh.  Well… okay, I guess.  I agree.  Ten pounds, but only if th’ road is completely clear.”  He puffed up his chest.  “If my people so much as crunch on a dry leaf -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be clear,” Minnie interrupted.  “You have my word.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He deflated a little, watching as she returned to the desk to pick up her cloak.  “...That’s it?” he asked as she began to draw it around her shoulders.  “Yer leavin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  I have a long night’s work ahead of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaddya mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, cleaning up that mess, of course.”  She fluffed her hair, but after a second’s thought, didn’t try tucking it under her hood again.  Why bother?  There was no need to keep hidden anymore.  Mickey looked a little alarmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?  Yer not gonna clear it yourself…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.  I can’t ask my people to fix a problem they didn’t create.  Everyone’s busy enough already.  Besides, there’s a bad strain of swamp fever going around and last month’s moonquartz is gone, so most of the werefolk are feeling poorly and - w-well, anyway.”  She was talking too much.  He was the last person who needed to know when things were rough - he’d just use it against her.  She tucked a curl behind one round ear, although it sprang back again immediately.  “I’ll see myself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked him over one last time, since it probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be the last time.  There was something in those blue eyes of his, something… well.  It didn’t matter.  She’d never find out.  Minnie turned and started toward the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-hey!”  Mickey took a step after her, surprised at the urgency in his own voice.  He could think fast in a pinch, however, and drew up beside her, dipping his head to catch her gaze.  “Ya can’t really expect me to believe you just materialized at my door outta nowhere just to make a, a little bit bigger pain in my neck than usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie did pause at the door, giving him a sideways glance.  Then she smiled a little in spite of herself.  “Oh no?  Does it really seem so out of character?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey blinked, startled.  The gesture was so charming that he smiled back automatically.  “Heh.  Guess not.  But I’d kinda like t’know whether I need to worry about you showin’ up every time I make you mad from now on.”  He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, tilting his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth fell open a bit when it was at rest, revealing just a hint of those fangs.  Minnie noticed this.  Minnie was an observant person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t expect me to reveal all my secrets,” she chided him.  Only she wasn’t really chiding him at all.  In fact, she had sort of a funny feeling that there was a word for what she was doing, only it was pretty shameful to consider.  They were enemies, weren’t they?  But that was such a strong, ugly word.  Rivals, then.  That was better.  You could build some type of rapport with a rival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The count shrugged his free shoulder.  “Ain’t askin’ about all of ‘em.  Just the one, that’s all.”  His grin broadened.  It was pretty disarming.  She shivered.  Careful, Minnie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.  As a gesture of good faith, I’ll show you.”  His eyes followed her as she reached into her bag and searched for a moment, before producing the compact.  He didn’t understand at first, even when she held it up, until she flipped the lid open.  He did look impressed then, even stood up straight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Portable mirror.  Clever.”  She gave a modest shrug, snapping the compact shut and replacing it in her bag.  Mickey closed one eye.  “But … that means you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> up here.  Right?  What for?  Snoopin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie scoffed.  “Really, Count Mickey -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just Mickey.”  He gave another little shrug at her questioning look.  “Saves time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.  Then I suppose you can call me Minnie, if you want to.  Unless you prefer - what was it?  Old Bag?”  She watched him squirm.  He really did look almost ashamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Er...w-well, Minnie, then.  An’ ya didn’t answer my question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made her sigh.  It felt like a hundred years since she’d been scheming excitedly in her kitchen.  What </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>she been thinking?  But then, had she really been so wrong?  He really was reasonable enough in person.  At least, he seemed like it.  But perhaps it was all some sort of fluke.  Maybe when the shock or the novelty wore off completely, she’d hear that same old disgusted note creep back into his voice again.  She couldn’t quite bear the thought of that.  If he was going to lose patience with her, she could at least pretend like that was somebody else - that the handsome, captivating face she saw now belonged to a different vampire altogether, who still existed somewhere and maybe thought well of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she was really a little fool after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not important now.  We can discuss it some other time.  Our regular interview, perhaps.  Good night, Count - I mean - Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowned a little, but didn’t try to stop her as she opened the door.  “Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other.  Then Minnie smiled, just a little, and left him there.  Mickey closed his eyes a moment.  Great ghosts.  He almost felt a little dizzy.  But maybe that was because of the faint scent of flowers that lingered in the air.  What in the world had just happened?  He’d met her, the swamp witch.  Minnie.  She’d appeared out of thin air and now she was gone, just as abruptly.  It didn’t make sense, but he was just as unprepared for her going as he’d been for her coming.  And there was something else too: that stuff she’d said about swamp fever and running out of moonquartz.  And about clearing the road herself.  She didn’t really mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, did she?  It was absurd.  Witch or no witch, she was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Mickey wasn’t a big guy, he knew that.  Size wasn’t everything.  But she was even </span>
  <em>
    <span>smaller</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was sure he was at least a shade taller, and her hands were so dainty and she sure wasn’t dressed for it.  Now, being petite and having the tiniest waist he’d ever seen and the softest-looking cheeks didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of anything.  She was the same exact witch who was constantly under his skin and he’d seen himself that she was argumentative and obstinate and that her eyes were deep, dark brown.  They both had their own concerns and priorities and challenges to deal with and nothing had changed.  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>so shallow as to think any differently just because she was so beautiful and so graceful, and he certainly wasn’t going to go running after her under some flimsy pretext.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie had almost reached the front door again when his shout made her turn back.  He was standing at the top of the staircase, and she tried not to notice the little thrill she got when he hurried down the steps after her.  He was probably just going to say something dreadful, that was all.  She waited calmly for him just the same.  He came to a halt in front of her, looking a little breathless, but otherwise calm and relaxed as he gave a little nod.  “...I think I better go with you.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Minnie has an Escort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Minnie blinked a few times.  Clearly, she was not understanding him at all.  “I beg your pardon?” she managed after a pregnant pause.  Mickey rested his hands on his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Down the mountain.  I’m going with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I see.”  She tried not to look as though her skin was tingling.  “...Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well….”  He shifted his weight to one hip, rubbed the back of his neck.  “I was just thinking, you know.  I haven’t actually surveyed the damage myself.  If you’re going to see to things personally, I just feel like I ought to look into it first.  Confirm all the reports an’ that.  See what I mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, she did see.  It made a lot of sense, Minnie thought, only she wasn’t sure why she thought so.  “I guess it is only fair.  Seeing as how I’m the authority in Evernight Forest -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pointed a finger at her approvingly.  “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re the authority up here -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That way there’s no misunderstandings about the situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just exactly what I was thinkin’, myself.  After you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie turned and laid her hand on the door handle, but when she gave it a tug, nothing happened.  She pulled harder, with the same result.  Mickey slipped past her.  “Er...what I meant was, allow me.”  She moved to make room for him, and he opened the door easily enough.  Was it locked before or something?  It hadn’t seemed so, just heavy.  Curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went out together into the night.  Minnie pulled her cloak up around her throat.  “Will you be warm enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who, me?  ‘Course.  Vampires don’t get cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.  That must be handy,” she mumbled.  Mickey looked a little smug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is.”  He looked up towards the glow of the moon, squinting.  “...Ain’t so handy as changin’ into a bat tho.  Shame you can’t turn yourself into one.  It’s an awful lot faster than walkin’ all the way back down to the valley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says I couldn’t?  But it’s against your laws to use my spells on the mountain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.  That’s right,” Mickey mused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, I have an even better way.”  He cocked a brow curiously as she pulled her bag up to rest on her hip.  With a grin, she began rooting through it.  After a few moments, she gave a little satisfied sound, and withdrew what looked like a stick at first.  But she kept pulling out more of it. It got longer and longer until it got stuck, and then Minnie wrestled with it a moment until its straw head popped free and she polished the handle proudly.  It was a very fine broomstick, strong and sturdy.  She stood it up and leaned her head against it, studying him.  “...Enchanted it myself!  I don’t get to fly very often, though.  Not a lot of clearance in the forest, and the valley’s no good, of course.  I...suppose it’s technically against the rules here too, that’s why I didn’t try using it on the up.  But…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey had watched all of this keenly, arms crossed over his chest.  Now, he straightened a little, and an authoritative note crept into his voice.  “Well - under the circumstances, I’ll allow it.  Yer under my protection, after all.  Anybody reports ya, I’ll handle it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie turned quickly, bent to appear like she was checking the soundness of the wood and the straw.  If he saw her blush, she would die.  Just like that.  Bleh.  Dead.  “Thank you.  I’ve got nothing to worry about, then.”  After taking a moment or two to compose herself, she rose, offering him a guileless smile.  “Want a lift?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuddered, and Minnie imagined it was because he didn’t like the idea.  That was not the reason.  But he, too, composed himself, and shook his head.  “Nah.  I’m a vampire, remember?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned toothily, and then as Minnie watched, he lifted his cloak and swirled it around himself with a casual flick of his wrist.  Before her eyes, the fabric shimmered and changed, the shape distorting and shrinking until it changed into the flap of leathery wings, and a little black bat swooped down to perch for just a moment on the top of her broomstick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Minnie cried, studying him closely.  It was quite true you could tell a vampire bat at once from the typical variety one saw around the forest, even though most little children back home were afraid of the sound of bat wings in general, since it might be one of the Up There folk in disguise.  Vampires were black, for one thing, instead of brown, and you could see their fangs very easily.  But somehow, Minnie didn’t quite imagine all vampire bats had such big ears or such sweet little faces.  He was, in fact, just the cutest thing she had ever seen, and it took all her strength not to burst into tears or reach out at once to seize him and cuddle him.  “I suppose I’ll go ahead?” she said, not tearing her eyes from him.  He squeaked.  Minnie almost died.  Again.  He lifted off, circling around her a couple times before heading down the path.  Minnie seated herself quickly and tucked her cloak in around her skirt, so nothing would fly around and reveal anything too sensitive.  She was almost shivering with excitement as the broom rose into the air and she took off after him, feeling the mountain wind catch her hair.  Oh, it was a wonderful night for flying.  The moon and stars were shining, the wind was bracing, and up ahead she could see Mickey zigzagging back and forth, gliding easily through the pines.  She was a little worried about flying through the village, but before they got there, he swerved back toward her, and she followed as he led them both sharply off toward the edge of the plateau.  He looked back at her only once more before tucking in his wings and diving down off the steep mountain face.  Grinning, Minnie followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flight down the mountainside was one of the most exhilarating things Minnie had ever experienced in her life.  Never before had she flown from so high and so fast, and so far.  Despite how tiny he was in this form, Mickey was quick as a wink, zipping over the rocks and trees as they followed a sharp ridge down toward the valley below.  He never seemed to lose track of her though, and each time she thought she’d lost sight of him, he’d reappear again, in front of her, or at her shoulder, or fluttering into view against the moon.  It was so different from the climb up to the count’s castle that she was almost surprised, and certainly a little disappointed, when the slope began to level off and she knew they were getting close to the base of the mountain road again.  When she slowed her broom at last and slid to the ground on shaky legs, she couldn’t stop herself from spinning around to look for him, laughing in sheer delight.  He fluttered up before her and a moment later, was standing there in human shape again, and he laughed too, breathless and tousled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heck!  That was -” he began, brightly, but seemed to catch himself, clearing his throat.  “...That was alright,” he finished, although his eyes were still shining.  “Not a bad little contraption of yours, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does all right.”  Minnie bit her lip.  “...You’re awfully fast, too.  No wonder vampires have such a reputation for popping up where you don’t expect them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made him grin again, fangs sparkling.  “S’a talent.”  His gaze shifted, however, and the smile faded away.  “...I guess that’s th’roadblock then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie turned.  Sure enough, they were standing a few yards from the narrow pass that marked the entrance to the road.  Nothing had changed since she’d squeezed past earlier that night - it was a terrible mess, totally blocked.  She sighed.  “Yes.  I was barely able to get through on my way up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who in the heck would do somethin’ like this?  Road’s used for trades more’n anything these days,” Mickey murmured, almost more to himself than to her.  Minnie shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I know some people don’t think we ought to trade at all.  But there’s so few who really feel that way. Most everyone just wants to get on with it and not start any trouble.”  She looked over the debris a moment in silence, before glancing at Mickey.  He was looking at her with a serious expression.  She worried then, just for a second, that she’d said too much - that he was going to accuse her again.  But he just shook his head instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Doesn’t make sense.”  Minnie nodded, then signed, even more heavily than the first time, and picked up her broom, replacing it carefully inside her bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.”  She started forward.  “...Thank you for the escort.”  She bent and began gathering up some of the smaller sticks and pieces of brush.  Mickey watched this for a couple seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, yer gonna clean this up by hand?”  He looked around incredulously.  “Ain’tcha gonna use yer magic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie paused to look back at him.  “That just shows what you know about magic.  Maybe if you all weren’t so afraid of it, you would’ve learned a thing or two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t afraid of it.  Jus’ careful, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.  Well, if you DID know more, you’d know the first thing about magic is that it’s not just a shortcut you can use however you want.  Spells take just as much effort as doing things the old-fashioned way and sometimes they take the proper ingredients too.  Sometimes it’s best to just use your hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey nibbled the inside of his cheek.  “What about those big logs an’ stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I guess I’ll have to use a spell or two to move some of them,” Minnie admitted.  She heaved the armful she’d been carrying into the bushes off to the side of the road and bent to gather more.  She wouldn’t admit it, but this was going to take all night, for sure.  She felt a little rush of air.  Was it Mickey changing back into a bat?  She heard a little fluttering sound, so it must’ve been.  A little pang of disappointment pulsed in her chest, because she had sort of thought he would say goodbye, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey strode past her, capeless, coatless, gloveless, rolling up his shirtsleeves.  Minnie stopped short.  “What’re you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Gonna move some of them big pieces,” he offered simply.  Minnie blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move the big pieces,” he repeated, pronouncing the words carefully.  Minnie turned to where he’d left the rest of his clothes in a little heap on the ground, then turned back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… I thought…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey squirmed a little.  This was awkward.  He really didn’t want to admit out loud that he hated the thought of leaving her all alone with that giant pile of garbage, and that the thought of her struggling with those stumps and logs, magic or no magic, made him feel desperate.  There was just no good excuse.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>You see, Goodwitch - that is, Minnie - the sight of you makes me feel like I just want to be nice to you, and I’m already starting to forget why I’ve always done just the opposite.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ha!  He would’ve laughed in his own face.  It just wouldn’t fly.  So instead, he said, “...Well, seein’ the size a’this job, I’m not sure you ken handle it.  At least, not to my satisfaction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie put her hands on her hips, unsure if she should be offended or what.  “Isn’t that my problem to worry about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not if the state of this road rattles the wheels off our carts.”  He bent and wrapped his arms around a huge log, pausing to glance up at her.  “...Losin’ moonlight, ain’tcha?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie scoffed, but had to sneak a look back at him even as she began to carefully extract some brambles from the heap.  He must be joking.  For one thing, that log he was hugging was massive.  There was no possible way he could ever -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey gave a little grunt, then lifted the log up, dragging it backwards.  Minnie’s mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut again, although her eyes were as wide as the full moon.  She watched as he dragged the log clear of the road before letting it fall, standing and cracking his neck with a satisfied sigh before returning to examine a stump that was twice as big as he was.  He had to bend at the knees, and she watched him strain, but he picked it up and leaned it back against his chest, backing carefully away with it.  When his gaze passed her way, she scrambled to fill her arms with smaller debris, heat rushing to her face once more.  Great ghosts!  One knew what they said about vampires and their inhuman strength, but this!  How strong </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>he?!  And he was so lean and compact, too.  Minnie gathered an armload of rocks and sticks so big she couldn’t see over the top of it, screaming inwardly all the while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, even with both of them, it was drawing close to dawn by the time they finished.  Somehow, even after the biggest items had been moved, Mickey never got around to leaving, and was still there even as they kicked away the last of those dried leaves with their feet, chuckling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had happened too.  Neither of them remembered starting a conversation, but they’d been chatting contentedly for a while now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Anyhow, that’s Donald for ya.  I told ‘im to just try givin’ her somethin’ nice, but I dunno if he’ll go for it.  Likes to think he comes up with his best ideas himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw.  Well, I hope he wins her over, yet.”  Minnie giggled.  “...It’s a shame there aren’t more flowers growing on the mountain.  Something simple and sincere is always the best.  There’s some beautiful starflowers by my house.  Swamp roses too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wommen like that kinda stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, some do.  But I’d imagine most would appreciate the gesture.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wish he’d give it a try.  Feel sorry for the guy.  But oh well, it’s his own fault if he’s gonna be too stubborn.”  Mickey shook his head fondly, but as he looked around, both the tidiness of the road and the grey tint on the horizon were undeniable.  He couldn’t quite hide his regret.  “...Guess I better get outta here.  Don’t wanna get caught out at dawn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  I wasn’t thinking!” Minnie gasped.  “Will you have time to get home safely?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, yeah.  Most of the pass an’ the village are in shadow most of th’day.  Not comfortable outdoors, but … a-anyway, I’ll be fine.”  He nibbled on his lip, watching as she tucked back one of those curls, even though he knew just from these few hours that it was hopeless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.  F-for helping me with all of this,” she said next.  Mickey was a little afraid she’d ask him why he’d done it, because he didn’t have a good answer.  But either she was satisfied with his original excuse or she knew better.  They both fell silent, and it was the same problem as when she’d been about to leave his study: he wanted to be around her a little longer.  He was a clever fellow, Mickey was, but even he was running out of excuses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t any trouble,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do hope you make it home safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t keep you then.  Goodbye, Count - I mean, Mickey.”  She took a couple steps back.  “I-I’ll make sure our end of the exchange goes smoothly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too!”  He took a step after her, then quickly took a step backwards.  Nope, get ahold of yourself, Mick.  “Well...so long.  Minnie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled when he said her name.  Mickey smiled back.  Then, before he could make a proper fool of himself for good, he hastily turned himself into a bat and flew straight away.  Well, almost.  He circled her twice because it had made her giggle before, and it made her giggle again now.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Then</span>
  </em>
  <span> he flew away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched him go until he was out of sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was an awful lot to puzzle over as Minnie made her way back across the valley to the edge of the forest.  She was so deep in thought that the sound of Clarabelle’s voice startled her as she approached the path that led back into the forest.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There she is!  Snakes alive, Minnie, I thought sure somethin’ terrible had happened!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’n the heck took ya so long?  S’nearly mornin’.”  Horace frowned, looking back over the valley to be sure she wasn’t being followed.  Minnie had put a hand to her chest, but now that she realized it was her own friends waving to her from the big fallen log where they sat, she relaxed again, running towards them - at least until she saw Pete too, standing off behind them with his arms crossed.  She stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  What … what a surprise. I didn’t expect you </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be waiting for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horace caught the italics in her voice and rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, well… th’ old girl got to frettin’ so, I figured I’d come out to meetcha.  Didn’t count on makin’ a picnic social out of it but certain voices carry an’ some folks got big ears.”  He shot a sour look back towards Pete.  Minnie could imagine it well enough - Clarabelle carrying on and Pete inviting himself along.  Clarabelle shot a stink eye back at Horace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, was I wrong ta be worried about our little Minnie?  It was terrible dangerous, goin’ up that awful mountain all alone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Without protection,” Pete added darkly.  “It’s a wonder they didn’t do somethin’ unspokeable to ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They might sound cross, but Horace and Clarabelle really cared for and looked after her more than anybody else she knew, and so she knew they weren’t really angry with her.  You might find other witches and warlocks who were a little more polished and sophisticated, but you couldn’t find any who were more goldenhearted underneath.  As for Pete… well, at least he hadn’t come after her on his own.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s awfully kind of you - but I’m fine, see?  So it’s all alright now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle reached out to take her hands.  “I’m sure I didn’t sleep a wink yesterday.  I’ve been in a state all night.  Didja get the book?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie opened her mouth, bursting with everything that had happened, but the question made her hesitate.  That’s right - that </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been the original reason for the whole trip.  “Oh … well, no, I didn’t.  But -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew it!” Pete burst out at once, plunking one huge fist into his palm.  “I knew it, I toldja how it’d go, didn’t I tell ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody asked,” Horace snapped.  He prided himself on being one of the toughest fellows in Evernight Forest, which might’ve naturally brought him into conflict with Pete, who also considered himself tough.  But it was a sort of toughness Horace couldn’t abide; the sort that made you feel free to step all over smaller and weaker folks however you wished.  Unfortunately, in this instance, Pete was right, and Horace had to admit that.  “...’Fraid I felt th’same way though, Miss.  These uppity types can’t be made t’talk reason.  It’s like oil an’ water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worse’n that!” Pete gestured broadly.  “It’s like - like two things that ya can’t mix together.  Only way to get through to ‘em is less talkin’ an’ more stompin’!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true!”  Minnie winced at the urgency in her own voice.  “What I mean is - I’m sorry for worrying you all,” Minnie squeezed Clarabelle’s hands.  “But I really was perfectly safe.  No </span>
  <em>
    <span>stomping</span>
  </em>
  <span> required.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...did you tell that old Count what’s what, at least?”  For a moment, Clarabelle looked almost as bloodthirsty as Pete seemed to be.  “Ohh, what I wouldn’t give to have seen it.  Was he an ugly old cuss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s cheeks coloured faintly.  “Er...well, he certainly wasn’t what I expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not so diff’rent that he was willin’ to show a speck of generosity tho,” Clarabelle huffed. “That’s just what</span>
  <em>
    <span> I</span>
  </em>
  <span> expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but -” Minnie burst out, before hesitating again.  They were all staring at her expectantly.  “I… I wouldn’t say he was entirely unreasonable.  There were … some complications.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Complications?” Clarabelle’s eyes widened even further.  “Whaddya mean, honey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing!  Nothing bad.  We just - there was a lot to discuss, that was all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh….”  Minnie couldn’t quite meet her friends’ eyes.  Like what, indeed? Broomsticks and flying and the taste of bloodberry cordials and the swamp fever outbreak and poison ivy tea and Mickey’s friend Donald’s love troubles.  Sleeves rolled up and moonburnt nose.  “We just… clarified some cultural differences.  And common concerns.  But we cleared the air on a few things.  The trade is still on and I’ll bring up the book another time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horace blinked.  “...That’s it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can’t be!” Pete burst out.  “There musta been more!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s heart gave a guilty little flutter but she looked at him steadily.  “What makes you say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete’s expression looked odd, but didn’t it usually?  He settled it into a scowl.  “...I just know it, that’s all.  I can feel it in my guts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was certainly enough room in Pete’s guts for plenty of feelings.  But Minnie just shook her head.  Later, perhaps, she would tell Clarabelle and Horace about the roadblock, but just now, something held her tongue.  Perhaps it was those gigantic logs and stumps.  A vampire’s strength could move them, she had proof of that now.  But what if someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>hauled the stuff up from the forest?  It would have to be someone big, someone who wasn’t afraid of causing a lot of trouble.  She had no proof, of course, but the thought was troubling enough for her to play dumb about the whole business - for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, we just said our pieces and … a-and that’s all.  We’ll make the exchange as usual and after that… we’ll see.  Anyhow, I’m awfully tired.  Let’s go home and have a cup of tea, all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle hugged her before either of the men could say more.  “Of course, sweet!  Listen to us jawin’ on after the night you’ve had.  All right, you two, git!  Move along!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph.”  Pete turned.  “This won’t be th’end of it.  You’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Horace.”  Minnie caught his sleeve as Pete crashed on ahead and Clarabelle hurried after.  “There is a favor I’d like to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that, Miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You usually make the exchange personally, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most often so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d like you to be there this month for certain.  Make sure everything goes all right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horace raised a brow.  “Are you expectin’ otherwise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.  I just - I trust you.  I…”  She looked down at the leaf-strewn path.  “...I want to make sure the Count knows we want to deal with him fairly.  And peacefully.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horace looked at her narrowly, but he could tell it was no use asking.  Clarabelle often declared she’d never speak another word about this or that, and it was always a lie, so he was pretty well acquainted with how that looked.  Minnie looked just the opposite.  So he simply nodded.  “You ken depend on me, then.  No nonsense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let Clarabelle carry the conversation the rest of the way home, which was easy enough to do.  It was best this way, wasn’t it?  There was no reason why she should ever see Mickey again.  But she would know he was up there and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t regret having met her.  Everything would go on just as before, but a little bit different.  Just a little. Nothing would really have to change.  Although….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie twisted a curl around her finger, thinking.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Things Unasked For</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I don’t see why I’ve gotta waste my whole night, what’s the big idea?  Why can’tcha just get one of th’ regular guys to take you sightseeing?” Donald grumbled.  Mickey just shook his head, grinning.  The scarf around his neck was slipping, and he tossed the loose end back over his shoulder, adjusting his grip on his side of the cart they were both pulling. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but then he wasn’t trying to fool anyone into thinking he wasn’t a vampire - just trying to look a little bit less like a Count, that’s all.  And the getup was effective enough, he thought.  It was the same boots and plain shirt and vest you’d see on most folks around the village.  Same for Donald.  They both just looked like two average boys from Up There, hauling this month’s load of moonquartz for Down Back down the mountain road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because, this ain’t just a sightseein’ trip - it’s an adventure!  Why, who knows what sorta trouble we’ll get into?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> a lick of trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but if we get it, I can’t think of anybody I want beside me more than my best pal Donald Duck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald swelled a little in spite of himself, lifting his cart handle a little higher.  “Oh yeah?  On account of my bravery?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naw, I jus’ wanna make sure I look real swell in comparison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well - HEY!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey laughed brightly.  “Just kiddin’, just kiddin’!  I want somebody I trust, that’s all.  Maybe ya ain’t got the most even temper, but I ken handle that part.  Just remember what I told ya, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald still looked sullen.  “Yeah, yeah, I know.  Don’t mention this to anybody.  You were never here. But I don’t see what’s worth spying on around here.  What’s the problem anyhow?  It’s just haulin’ a cart of moonquartz down the mountain, they do it every month.  Rocks go down, berries come up.  A baby could do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, so now I</span>
  <em>
    <span> know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can handle it.  Aw, seriously, Donald.”  Mickey caught his friend’s collar as he swiveled to walk away, determined to be offended by this relentless teasing.  “I jus’ wanna make extra sure things go smooth this month.  There’s been a little nonsense goin’ around lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald elbowed him aside.  “Yeah, an’ I heard it came right up to your door the other night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey bristled.  “Who told ya that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald looked smug.  “Word gets around.  But now I know it’s true!  Heh heh heh, I sure would like to have seen your face when that ugly ol’ witch was staring you down, ha ha!”  He burst into a particularly grating laugh.  Mickey’s ears twitched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She ain’t ugly,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-Ha ha!  What’d you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said she ain’t that old.  Anyhow, that’s jus’ all the more reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaddya mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, just that …”  Mickey shrugged one shoulder.  “Maybe it ain’t such a bad idea, doing things personally.  That’s what leadership is, ain’t it?  Takin’ charge an’ - an’ responsibility an’ stuff like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald made a face.  “Well, better you than me, then.  I just wanna trade alla this junk an’ get back home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to Daisy?” Mickey grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really making progress now, Mickey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet.  Well, we’re almost there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mickey was the sort of person who probably would’ve comfortingly said they were almost there even if they weren’t.  But in this case, it was true, and only a couple of minutes later, the shape of another cart and two tall figures standing by it came into view through the mist that often lingered around the base of the mountain.  Donald gulped nervously, but Mickey gave a chipper little wave as they approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evenin’, fellas!  Beautiful night, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of the forest-dwellers were much taller. They exchanged a glance, before the grumpier-looking of the two turned a frown Mickey’s way.  “You ain’t the usual fellers.  Don’t think I ever saw you before, stranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wow, busted immediately.  Mickey gave a little giggle.  “Oh!  Yeah, well - it’s his birthday so we gave him the night off.  My name’s Mick - Mike.  Yeah.  Mike.  An’ this is Donald.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mike.  Mike the vampire.”  The long-faced fellow looked doubtful, but his companion, a buck-toothed ghoul, spoke up first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Goofy. This is Horace.  I don’t usually come out here myself neither, but Minnie asked us ta keep an eye on things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh she did, did she?”  Donald narrowed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.”  Goofy narrowed his eyes back, which made him look somehow less threatening rather than more.  “So don’t try nothin’ funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, you -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” Mickey interrupted before Donald could get heated.  “Got everything right here.  You ken look it over yourself.”  Mickey stepped around the cart to throw back the cover and withdraw a packet of moonquartz all nicely wrapped, holding it up and turning it about before replacing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.  Show ‘em the crop, Goofy, might as well see that we’re all satisfied and start unloadin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey swapped places with Horace, and Goofy threw back the tarp on their cart as he climbed up to reveal the full baskets of ripe bloodberries.  The sight and - mmm, the delicious smell of them was enough to make your mouth water, and Mickey had to resist the urge to just pop a few in his mouth right there.  “Aw, heck, they look great!” he beamed, dipping his fingers into one of the baskets to let a handful of plump berries fall through them.  If Goofy was surprised by this praise, he didn’t show it, just broke into a broad smile himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They oughta!  These ones were picked from th’ nicest patch we got!  Extra juicy too, on account of keepin’ all the frogs out of ‘em. I’m the chief frog-catcher, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Issat so?”  Mickey hopped back down.  “Well, guess ya musta done a swell job, all right.  Looks good enough t’eat!  All right, Donald, let’s start loadin’ ‘em up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, wait a second.”  Horace turned, looking puzzled.  “There’s eleven pounds here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Donald shot a look toward Mickey.  “That’s gotta be a mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it ain’t.”  Mickey cleared his throat.  “Uh - yeah.  Eleven pounds.  Count said so.  Fixed it all up with the witch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She didn’t say anythin’ about it to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, he was real particular about it, an’ you can tell her so.  Eleven pounds, no mistake about it,” he repeated firmly.  Horace scratched his head, but he couldn’t figure out the angle, so he shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let’s get it loaded up, Goofy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made the exchange smoothly enough - although, at one point, Goofy accidentally stepped on Donald’s foot before tripping over his own and breaking into a pretty exceptional dance to keep from falling.  Donald objected to his own involvement  in the strongest terms.  It might’ve caused a bigger fuss, except Mickey started laughing and couldn’t stop the madder Donald got.  Mickey’s laugh was notoriously infectious, too.  Donald was pretty immune to it when it was at his expense, but it caught Goofy easily enough, because Goofy always laughed easily, and even Horace was fighting a quiet chuckle as he secured the last of the moonquartz on their cart.  Little guy was pretty strong too.  He got those bloodberries transferred in no time flat, hefted every basket by himself - sniffing and humming in appreciation all the while - and loaded them up, and even helped secure the moonquartz for its trip down to the woods.  The end result of all this, then, was that everyone except Donald was in a pretty good mood as they surveyed the outcome of the exchange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er - well, thanks for everythin’,” Mickey said, a little awkwardly.  He’d listened to more than a few complaints about how rude and difficult the folks from Down Back could be during exchanges, but these fellows certainly seemed all right.  He hesitated before extending his hand.  Horace stared at it, but Goofy reached out immediately and shook it cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ain’t so bad for a vampire!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh.  Thanks?  You ain’t so bad for - yourself,” Mickey returned politely, since he actually had no idea what sort of ghoul Goofy was.  After a moment, he extended his hand to </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Horace too, who eventually shook it, a little doubtfully.  Well… it was something, anyway.  Sort of made him wonder why he hadn’t tried it all sooner - coming down here in person.  It really wasn’t so hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, brother,” Donald contributed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”  Horace went around to the front of the cart, returning a moment later with a small package.  “Almost forgot.  Miss Minnie said to give this to that count of yours.  For his eyes only, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh really?”  Mickey took the package, intrigued, and naturally enough, immediately began to open it.  He was a little shocked when Horace slapped his hand away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah AH!  Didn’tcha hear a word I said?  For the Count’s eyes only!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.  Right.”  Mickey giggled.  “Sorry. Jus’ curious. I’ll see that he gets it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh.”  Horace headed back around to the front of his cart.  “Well… so long, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey and Donald watched as the two Down Back fellas slowly made their way down the valley with their cart, vanishing into the fog, before starting back up the road.  Almost as soon as they were out of earshot, Donald elbowed him.  “Hey, what’s the deal with eleven pounds of moonquartz, huh?  You didn’t say anything about that before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er - oh, never mind that.  Take over a sec while I take a look at this package here, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I’ll just do all the work, how about that?” Donald grumbled, but he was curious himself, enough so that he didn’t really object beyond that as Mickey opened up the package and unfolded a note of some sort.  “Whazzat?  A love letter?” Donald ribbed him after a minute.  He laughed immediately at his own joke, so that he didn’t actually see Mickey’s face redden slightly.  The count recovered quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’might say that.  An’ it’s for you, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha ha!  ...What?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey smirked, holding out the package to reveal a deep blue-purple flower nestled in some brown paper.  “Here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the heck is this?  A flower?  What’s the big idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey didn’t answer immediately, still scanning the letter.  This is what it said:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Count Mickey,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you again for your help with the road issue.  I am very glad we could resolve things.  I know my presence must have been a surprise to you.  Please know that I am grateful you heard me out.  I have to admit you’re not what I expected, but sometimes it’s refreshing to be surprised.  I hope you feel the same.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Horace and Goofy will make today’s trade on my behalf.  They are trusted friends.  As a token of my appreciation, please find enclosed a swamp rose.  I thought your friend might give it to the young lad you mentioned.  If he puts it in a bowl of wine and algae it will stay fresh for some time as well as deepen the color.  They’re very popular here at home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sincerely,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Minerva Deadly Nightshade Nettlemouse</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Minnie)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mickey smiled to himself, only blinking back to reality when Donald thrust the flower under his nose.  It was richly fragrant, Mickey noticed, and somehow, faintly evocative of the witch herself.  Not - not that he had smelled her.  Only passively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this garbage?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not garbage.  It’s some sort of flower that grows Down Back,” he said out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what am I supposed to do with it?  Make soup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, dummy!  Give it to Daisy.”  Realizing that this plan might arouse questions, Mickey folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket with casual grace.  “When I talked to the Witch before, we happened to discuss - uh - horticulture.  She mentioned some swell stuff that makes good presents so - so she sent this one along and I thought you might as well have it.  Girls love flowers, y’know, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> ain’t got anybody to give it to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald snorted.  “I dunno.  Why should I trust that old witch?  How do I know it won’t give Daisy a rash or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey’s eyes turned heavenward.  “Oh, well - if yer too </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span> to talk to her, then….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scared?  Scared?!  I’m not scared of anything!  Daisy’ll love anything I give her, she’s crazy about me, she’s just too shy to say it.  You’ll see, Mickey, you’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey bit his cheek to prevent himself from making any comment whatever on the subject of Daisy’s shyness.  But his mood was still awfully bright the rest of the way back up the mountain, even as Donald’s confidence faded a little and his nerves set in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After safely delivering the cartload of bloodberries to be juiced, Mickey left Donald to his fate - hopefully a happy one - and returned to his castle in high spirits.  The letter from Minnie stayed in his pocket, and even though he already knew perfectly well what it said, somehow he ended up taking it out to read it again two or three times over the rest of that night. </span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘Sometimes it’s refreshing to be surprised’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Hoped he felt the same.  If asked why he kept grinning over the note, Mickey would’ve said he didn’t know, and maybe he didn’t.  But you can feel things without knowing why, or even what.  And when he finally crawled into his coffin at dawn, he lay there a while, almost too happy to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his life, or rather, undeath, Mickey had found it so stupid, the way everybody always seemed to be bickering and arguing over the dumbest things, and all over some piece of land that nobody ever even saw anymore.  Sure, a lot of the arguing in recent years had been between Mickey himself and the witch, but that was before!  That was when he thought she couldn’t be reasoned with, when he thought she could never like him and he could never like her. But what if that wasn’t true?  What if all this time, their motives and feelings weren’t so different?  What if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be reasoned with?  Maybe she didn’t want to fight any more than he did.  Maybe she could even want peace.  It was a pretty radical idea, but Mickey had always been a little unorthodox.  And Minnie… well.  He hadn’t spent so long struggling to keep her in check without developing a pretty good idea of how determined and shrewd she could be.  And after all, wouldn’t somebody like that make a better ally than an opponent?  He was sure it wouldn’t be that hard.  And, heck, it wasn’t like the idea was so crazy; she’d already extended sort of an olive branch of her own, hadn’t she?  Well, so had he.  That was all.  And if she responded positively, then...then….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was mid-morning before Mickey finally drifted off to sleep, dreams ablaze with possibilities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All the next night, Mickey was still in a good mood.  It was so good that even a visit from Baron Shyster didn’t dampen his spirits, although he certainly did carry a foul aura with him.  In fact, Mickey found himself sniffing the air even before he heard the Baron approach.  There was something unpleasant in it, but he felt it must be his imagination.  He was in the library when the Baron found him, poring over the shelves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!  Shyster.  Bad news, I hope?”  Mickey snorted at his own humor, scarcely looking up when he heard the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid so, my lord,” Shyster said, sounding just as grim as always.  Mickey didn’t turn around, waiting for the inevitable gloom to start.  But before Shyster even spoke, a waft of something hit him, so strong and so horrible that it made him cough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha - what th - Shyster, what is that SMELL?”  He spun around, holding his nose, to find that Shyster was covering his own face with a handkerchief.  As he watched, Shyster lifted his free hand and dropped something to the floor.  Mickey recoiled as the bulbs thudded onto the carpet and rolled a few inches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Garlic, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ken see that!  AND I can smell it, why the hell’d you bring it in here?  Where’d it come from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From our newly arrived shipment of bloodberries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Baron watched as Mickey’s hand dropped, his face going slack with shock and surprise.  He nodded slowly.  “...I’m afraid it’s true.  It was discovered hidden in one of the baskets.  Fortunately, the bulbs were detected before any of the bloodberries were processed, but if they hadn’t been ….”  He shook his head.  “...Your Grace must see that this represents a clear and serious escalation of hostilities on the part of the Witch and her ilk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that’s impossible!  I….”  The Count trailed off, and as he looked at the Baron, something changed in his eyes.  He grew very quiet, his gaze distant, drifting off somewhere within.  Then he coughed, shoulders lifting as he fought back a gag.  He covered his face with his hand.  When at last he looked up at Shyster again, there was an uncharacteristic grimness about him.  “...You said that all of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> garlic was found in </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> month’s supply of bloodberries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An’ you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> sure about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely certain, my lord.  There can be no question.  I inspected the basket myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yourself.  Personally?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes.  The smell was -” He lowered the handkerchief for a moment only to hastily lift it again.  “Well.  As you can tell.  I can only assume they didn’t expect to encounter such a sensitive nose as I -” he caught himself, smiling an unpleasant little smile.  “-or </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> possess, my lord, of course.  But they must know almost all our bloodberry supply is crushed and processed immediately, it’s no secret.  Mixed in with an entire batch of cordial or jelly, even the smell might remain undetectable, at least until it was too late.  The entire town could’ve been affected!”  He stepped forward, looking suddenly angry.  “Your Grace, for months now, the Witch has been playing these games, and still you refuse to take decisive action!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re that sure this is the Witch’s doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OF COURSE IT IS!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey’s ear twitched as the Baron raised his voice, but his face betrayed neither surprise nor displeasure.  Shyster composed himself.  “...Forgive me, my lord, but it’s absurd to think otherwise.  This was a deliberate act and the implications are clear.  The Witch and her kind </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> be dealt with.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey was silent again, brow furrowed.  He looked hard at that garlic strewn across the floor.  Shyster let that silence rest between them for a long time.  It was … productive, he felt.  At last, very softly, he spoke.  “My lord.  I know it brings you no pleasure to contemplate… well.  Some of the things a strong leader has to do are bound to be unpleasant.  But I can assure you, your people will stand behind you.  I will be the very first to support you, whatever has to be done.  And … if you find that my experience and knowledge can be of any use at all….”  Mickey turned those sharp blue eyes Shyster’s way, and even the Baron found himself faintly uneasy.  But he smiled anyway.  “I would be happy to advise Your Grace with regard to any … necessary actions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.”  Mickey nodded, very slowly.  “...You’ve certainly put more thought into the issue than anyone else I know of.  I’ll consider it, Baron.  I guess you’re right.  Things have gone on like this for too long.  There’s somethin’ goin’ on and I’m afraid it’s even more rotten than that smell.”  He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut.  “...Ugh.  Get that stuff out of here, willya?  I’ve got a lot to think about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, My Lord.  But remember what I said.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I will.”  Shyster bent and gathered up the reeking bulbs, before bowing, and moving to excuse himself.  Before he reached the door, however, Mickey’s voice stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Baron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My Lord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was the worker’s name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Baron looked at him blankly.  “Sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The worker who discovered the garlic, who was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster blinked once, but then shrugged his shoulders.  “Oh.  I’m afraid I didn’t catch her name.  One of the village folk, that’s all, nobody of particular consequence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say it’s pretty consequential if she stopped the whole town from getting garlic poisoning.  Find out her name for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, My Lord. Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey stayed where he was long after the door had closed, his expression no brighter when he was alone, even though Shyster’s departure usually had the opposite effect. Garlic.  That was serious.  A stunt like that would justify a pretty severe response.  It was totally unconscionable.  He chewed his lip.  Was it possible…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, he made up his mind.  He knew what he had to do.  And it scared him a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey headed for the study in silence, unsure what he was even going to say.  His undead heart was pounding as he stood before the mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get me the Witch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes as the mirror swirled and churned before him.  Cripes, the smell of the garlic was still making him feel nauseous, even after it was gone.  Maybe it was just the memory of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey!”  Minnie’s voice brought him back to the present and he opened his eyes, standing up straighter.  She was a dim outline once again, that same tinny voice, but now he could imagine her, her wild hair and brown eyes, standing there - somewhere - with her hands clasped together.  “This is a surprise!  I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again so soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well… I wasn’t really expecting it either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”  She didn’t know how to take that, and so after a pause, she went on.  “I - I hope you got the package I sent you?  I was afraid it would get crushed - flowers are delicate, you know, but -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I got it!  It was -”  He cleared his throat.  “It was real pretty.  Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  Wonderful!”  She paused again.  “Well...w-what can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey took in a breath.  “...There is something I want, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  I wanna come down there.  To Evernight Forest.  In person.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Allies and Enemies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I can’t believe this is happening.”  Minnie ran her hands through her curls, although it wasn’t clear whether she was trying to smooth them down or fluff them up more.  It didn’t really matter, because they sprang back just the same after she was done, spinning to find something, anything to do with her nervous hands.</p><p>“Stop twitterin’ around so, honey!  You’re makin’ me so fearful nervous!” Clarabelle twisted her apron on her lap.  She didn’t look as though anybody needed to help her be nervous at all.  That hadn’t changed ever since Minnie had come streaking down from the observatory, squealing that the count was coming, the count was coming.</p><p>And the Count <em> was </em> coming, sometime tonight.  It wasn’t all that surprising, really, once the initial shock had worn off.  Minnie <em> had </em> started things on this path.  But even so, Clarabelle thought it was rotten of him to spring a visit on them out of the blue, with only one night’s warning, and even being reminded that Minnie had gone Up There without any notice at all hadn’t swayed her opinion.  She firmly felt that was <em> different. </em>  Anyway, the really baffling part was the effect the news had on Minnie.  From that moment to this, she had scarcely stopped scurrying, tidying up the house and watering the weeds in the front garden and trailing along after Goofy offering advice and encouragement as he struggled to flush all the frogs out of the kitchen at least for one day.</p><p>It didn’t escape Clarabelle’s notice, either - she prided herself that little did - that Minnie was wearing one of her prettiest frocks tonight, too.  Clarabelle had paused behind the little mistress in the door of her boudoir, squinting suspiciously as she dabbed swamp-rose-water on her neck and puffed beetle dust onto her cheeks.  </p><p>“Oh, Clarabelle, do I look all right?”  Minnie had asked, peering critically at her own reflection in the glass of her vanity.</p><p>“Like a nightmare!”</p><p>“Oh, do you really think so?”</p><p>“Course I do.  I never saw one so pretty as you.  But I can’t see as to why you oughter go to so much trouble for the likes of him.  Your everyday things are good enough for <em> him </em>.”</p><p>Minnie flushed, dropping her powder puff into its jar.  “Oh...well, it’s just … C-Count Mickey’s castle is all so grand, you know.  I suppose I just want him to feel as though our way of living is just as fine as his, in its way.”</p><p>“An’ why shouldn’t he?  We may not build them big, awful stone houses they like so much, but I’d take our lovely forest an’ gardens an’ swamps a hundred times over before you’d ever catch me freezing my hooves off on in some fancy brick box on that cold, windy mountain, all exposed to th’elements and whatnot.  Folks like that don’t know a thing about real good honest livin’.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t say that,” Minnie murmured, but when Clarabelle squinted at her, she just changed the subject.  “...But I do want to make a good impression, that’s all.”</p><p>“Yes, you said that.  Several times now, in fact.  If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, you’ve been acting funny ever since you went up there.”  Clarabelle sat down on the bed, crossing one leg over the other and leaning forward.  She looked like a constable pressing a suspect; or maybe Minnie just felt like one.  “What did happen between you and that count, anyhow?”</p><p>Minnie blushed again.  “I told you.  Nothing happened.  We spoke and … and he was a lot more reasonable than I was afraid he’d be.  He was civil and … and I don’t believe he really wants to hurt anyone.”  Clarabelle scoffed, but Minnie turned in her chair.  “I’m serious.  I think maybe we’ve gone about things the wrong way, Clarabelle.  For an awfully long time now.”  She clutched the back of the chair, brown eyes aglow.  “If we could have peace, real peace - can you imagine how wonderful that would be?  Not to constantly be fighting with one another, to travel through the valley without fear, to terrify the mortals hand in hand?”</p><p>Clarabelle sighed, rising to her feet.  “...It’s a real lovely thought, honey.  Honest, it is.  But people are mean, ornery creatures, most of ‘em, and they don’t know what’s good for ‘em.  If you think you can talk sense with that vampire, go right along and try - but don’t get your hopes up too high, that’s all I’m sayin’.”</p><p>“I’ll try,” Minnie had replied, but Clarabelle had not been convinced she was really listening.  She was no more convinced now, as Minnie darted around the kitchen, checking the cauldron bubbling over the stove and the teapot - all as though she were preparing for a social call rather than the imposition of - well, if not an enemy, than an uninvited guest at best.</p><p>“I wish you’d let Horace sit in on things,” Clarabelle complained for the fourth time.  Minnie shook her head, hanging her spoon back on its hook.</p><p>“Now, Clarabelle, I told you before.  The Count didn’t have any guards sitting around scowling at me when I spoke to him, so it would look terribly unfriendly if<em> I </em> did.  Besides, I’m more worried about somebody like Pete showing up and causing a scene so it’ll be much better for Horace to keep a watch out on the village road like we discussed.  You did say he’s already set off, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Yes, yes.  He’ll keep an eye to be sure the Count is alone, as he promised, and he’ll make sure nobody else gets any bright ideas.  But I don’t like it.  He’s a vampire, they’re not like us.  Who knows what he might try, even if he is alone?”</p><p>“Don’t worry!  I went to see him all alone before and I felt perfectly safe.”</p><p>“That’s only on account of havin’ no sense,” Clarabelle pouted, and Minnie smiled because she knew she didn’t mean it.  She gave Clarabelle a little hug.</p><p>“Then let’s just hope and assume that Count Mickey hasn’t any more sense than I have,” she said soothingly.  Clarabelle was not soothed, not completely, but at least she stopped twisting up her apron and sighed instead.  Minnie left her to check the parlor once more.  </p><p>Truly, she felt a little guilty about it, because although she really didn’t think it was necessary to have anyone guard her, the real reason for keeping Horace at a distance was because he was bound to chaperone her a little <em> too </em> well.  While she appreciated her friends’ protectiveness, it would be more pleasant - that is, more productive - a-and desirable - to speak with Mickey … w-well … more <em> privately </em>.  Not that there was anything they might say which wasn’t suitable to be heard.  Or anything like that.</p><p>She passed Goofy on her way, who was still wedged under the chaise lounge in pursuit of one last target, only his feet and legs visible.  Minnie could hear it under there herself, croaking away.  “Careful, Goofy!  Don’t hurt yourself.”</p><p>His laugh drifted up from below.  “Don’t worry about me!  I’ve got th’ little rascal cornered now.  I’m jus’ waitin’ til he lets his guard down.”</p><p>“All right, then.”  She passed through the room, looked everything over, returned to the kitchen.  Now Clarabelle was stirring the cauldron.  Minnie wrung her hands.</p><p>“Now, don’t be so <em> nervous </em>, Clarabelle!” she insisted.  “The Count will be here any minute, and -”</p><p>There was a knock on the front door.  Minnie froze, and Clarabelle dropped the spoon with a clatter.  “The Count!”  They breathed as one.  Nobody moved.</p><p>An instant later, the kitchen erupted into a flurry, as Clarabelle clapped the lid back on the pot with a resounding clang and Minnie wrestled frantically to extract herself from the apron she’d forgotten she was wearing.  Clarabelle freed her in the end, yanking the offending article over her head and balling it up to throw it aside.  “Go, go!” she urged, patting Minnie’ cheeks and making one last hopeless attempt to smooth her hair.  Minnie nodded, heart racing, and as soon as Clarabelle released her, she flew to the front door and scrambled to unlock the chain.  She yanked it open.</p><p>And there he was.  Minnie tossed her head, sending a mass of her curls bouncing back from her shoulders, and gave him an easy smile.  “Ah, Count Mickey.  So you found your way after all.  Won’t you come in?”</p><p>He inclined his head politely and she stepped aside for him to pass.  He was just as handsome as ever, or even worse, since the traveling clothes he was wearing flattered him terribly.  A scarlet cloak and high boots, black coat with crimson trimmings and his waist cinched in tightly with a matching sash.  </p><p>“Thanks for agreein’ to see me,” he began.  Minnie shut the door.</p><p>“Oh - well - I admit this was all … pretty unexpected, but...I-I suppose that doesn’t have to be such a bad thing, does it?”</p><p>The irony of it all didn’t escape him, and he smiled faintly.  “I hope not.”  She waited for him to go on, but just as he had done during their conversation via mirror, he seemed to hesitate now, as if something wasn’t quite right.  That worried her a little.  However, after a pause, he looked around, tucking his hands behind his back, and he seemed to be well enough at ease.  “So.  This is where you live?  Seems like a real nice place, all tucked cozy into the swamp here, huh?”</p><p>“Yes, it is!  The home’s been handed down from mother to daughter for generations.  Really, it’s too big for me, but there’s so much history here.”</p><p>“Heh.  Know how that feels.”  He paused, finding that in at least one direction, the house was looking back at him.  Minnie followed his gaze.  </p><p>“Oh!  Clarabelle - w-won’t you come and say hello?  Count Mickey, this is Clarabelle Cow.  She’s one of my dearest friends.”</p><p>Mickey bowed slightly.  “...Pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”</p><p>Clarabelle sniffed, but was clearly intrigued.  “I reckon so,” she responded, which made Minnie shoot her a dangerous look.  She scowled, but stifled it when Mickey’s head lifted again.  “...Well, I’m sure you’re welcome here, Count.  Assumin’ yer here peaceably and showin’ the proper respect to our Mistress.”</p><p>“Clarabelle,” Minnie hissed, but Mickey only smirked a little.</p><p>“I won’t forget where I am, Goody Clarabelle..”</p><p>“Hm.”  Clarabelle sniffed again, but was visibly softened a little by the honorable title.  “Well...see that you don’t.  I’ll be in the kitchen if I’m needed.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you,” Minnie said, a little pointedly.  She turned back to Mickey as Clarabelle retreated at last.  “So!  Er - you still haven’t told me what’s inspired this visit, Count Mickey.  Or were you just curious to see how we live Down Back, now that I’ve had the opportunity to see something of the mountain?  I’d be happy to give you a tour of the house.”</p><p>“Thanks, but...a-actually, there <em> is </em> something I needed to talk to you about.”  Mickey rubbed a hand over his cheek, then his whole head.  That restlessness had returned.  Minnie clasped her hands together at her waist.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Erm….” he shot a glance toward the kitchen doorway.  “Is there someplace we could talk <em> privately? </em>”</p><p>“Privately?”  Minnie’s cheeks colored.  “Well, certainly.  There’s nobody here but Clarabelle and me anyway.  If you wanted, we could step into the parlor, or -”</p><p>A bang and a howl rose up from nearby.  Minnie clapped a hand to her fluttering heart as both of them leaned forward to look through the open parlor doorway, to where Goofy’s legs were flailing, the couch clapping and scraping as if possessed while he battled beneath it.  Minnie blanched.</p><p>“Oh, that’s - that’s Goofy,” she stammered.  This was not, perhaps, a fully satisfactory explanation, and yet the Count seemed to understand anyway, somehow, because he nodded pretty confidently and said, “Ah!” as if this cleared it all up.  Minnie stared for another moment.</p><p>“On second thought, the back garden is haunting this time of night - and quiet.  Would you care to take a stroll?”</p><p>“Sounds perfect.  After you.”</p><p> </p><p>Just as Minnie had promised, the garden was very spooky.  The air was full of the sound of frogs and crickets, and fireflies twinkled all over the bog, blinking in and out of the mist.  And the way the moon filtered down through the trees and fell on the water, all soft and sleepy, made it feel like a different moon altogether than the one that shone down bright and clear on the mountain.  But it was the same moon, and Minnie lifted her face to bathe in its glow for a moment, trying to calm her nerves, before Mickey cleared his throat.  She turned toward him then, speaking quickly.</p><p>“I wanted to say thank you.  When Horace told me about the extra pound of moonquartz, he was sure there must be some mistake, but they said it was on your instructions.  I just knew it must be true.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am.  It’ll make such a difference.”</p><p>“O-oh, yeah. Well, don’t mention it.”  Mickey tucked his hands behind his back and strolled on a few steps more, before turning to look back at her.  When he fell silent yet again, the knot in Minnie’s stomach tightened.  What had become of that easy friendliness he’d shown before?  He didn’t look happy at all; in fact, he seemed almost miserable. At last, when she was ready to say almost anything to break the silence, he spoke.  “About the moonquartz - well, the exchange - the bloodberries, in fact - um - it’s - that’s why I’m here, Minnie.”</p><p>“It is?”  Minnie clasped her hands.  “Horace said your servants seemed pleased with them.  Were they … not satisfactory?”  That couldn’t be, surely.  Minnie had overseen things herself - it was a beautiful crop.  She hated to think his generosity had come with strings, but ….</p><p>“It’s not that.”  He studied her face with those sharp blue eyes before letting out a sigh and pulling his shoulders back.  She watched his hands clench into fists.  “...I had a visit from Baron Shyster last night.  He came to tell me that he found garlic hidden in the bloodberries you sent.”</p><p>The color drained from Minnie’s face in an instant.  She couldn’t have paled faster if he’d sunk his teeth into her neck, and that probably would’ve been less painful.  “...What?” she managed to whisper after a few terrible seconds.  “But … but that’s impossible.”</p><p>Mickey sighed unhappily, scrubbing a hand over his forehead.  “He brought the garlic to show me.  Feels like I can still smell it now.”  He shook his head.  “...Look.  Minnie -”</p><p>Minnie turned her head away as he looked up at her, her brown eyes filling with tears.  It was humiliating to cry at such a moment, but she couldn’t help it.  She had a quick enough mind to grasp what was about to happen.  It was over, all of it.  All her hopes for peace, an end to this constant anger and suspicion, and most of all, the foolish hope that Mickey might … that whatever she’d imagined … well.  Either he’d never wanted any of it and she’d been wrong completely, or else there were forces at work beyond anything she’d allowed herself to believe.  She couldn’t suspect Horace or Goofy, but how could she ever be sure the bloodberries had never been left alone?  Pete wasn’t the only one who hated everyone Up There.  And in the end, wasn’t that her fault, for allowing things to go on this long, for being too proud and too petty to reach out sooner?  And now it was too late.  If it was any sort of trick, he must truly despise her to be so cruel, and if it wasn’t, he could never trust her again, not after such a dangerous-</p><p>Minnie gasped then, interrupting before he could say any more, broken out of all other painful thoughts by the worst one yet.  She couldn’t pretend to hide her tears as she covered her mouth with one trembling hand.  “Was anyone hurt?”</p><p>Mickey stared at her.  An odd expression passed through his eyes, but after an instant, it cleared, and then he shook his head.  “No.  Nobody.”</p><p>Minnie closed her eyes.  “...Thank mischief.”  At least that might avert the very worst of it.  If she could just prevent a war, let things cool down for a while, that would have to be enough.  But still, she felt almost crushed by the disappointment of it all, and a fresh wave of tears welled up again.  “...Oh, Mickey - I know you can’t believe me, but I swear to you - I didn’t - I couldn’t - I would never -”  She couldn’t even seem to find the words, but it didn’t matter.  No matter how badly she wanted him to believe her, to like her, it was impossible now.</p><p>Then he reached out and seized her hands in both of his.  </p><p>“Minnie, I know.  I know ya didn’t.”</p><p>He said it almost urgently.  Minnie was so surprised that her tears almost froze on her cheeks and she could hardly squeak anything out at all.  “...What?”</p><p>“I know you didn’t do it.  An’ I know yer friends didn’t tamper with it, either.”  He’d bent toward her now.  His eyes were so blue and so intense that Minnie felt almost dizzy.  Was that because he was a vampire, or was it just because he was...<em> him? </em></p><p>“But - but - <em> how? </em>”</p><p>His hands tightened around hers.  He stood up straight again, drawing her hands along with him so that now, he was almost holding them to his chest.  “Because I was there.  At the exchange.  I inspected the bloodberries myself. <span>An’ however or </span><em><span>whenever</span></em><span> the garlic got in, it wasn’t there when I picked ‘em up an’ it wasn’t there when I dropped ‘em off.  I’d stake myself on it.”</span></p><p>Now it was Minnie’s turn to stare.  Somewhere, very dimly in the back of her mind, she remembered Horace saying something about a couple fellers he’d never seen before, but she had thought nothing of it.  “Then...y-you didn’t come to ...declare a war or anything?” she managed.  Mickey shook his head at once.</p><p>“What?  No, a’course not!  Aw heck - guess I really am a chump, lettin’ ya think a thing like that.  Now, look - aw, wait a second.” He let go of her hands and began patting his chest and sides, until at last he located a handkerchief which he passed to her.  “Don’t cry, huh?”  Minnie <em>had</em> started to cry again, but with relief this time.  She took the hanky gratefully though, and dabbed her eyes with it.  He graciously pretended to gaze all around the garden and swamp for a minute as she collected herself, finishing with a good blow of her nose before finally offering the hanky back.  He waved it away.  “Naw, keep it.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m not usually - I didn’t mean to get so carried away, I was just so afraid that you - ... w-wait a minute.”  Minnie folded the hanky slowly, with one or two lingering sniffles, as a new furrow creased her brow.  “You said you took the bloodberries all the way back up the mountain yourself?  That doesn’t make sense.  If the garlic wasn’t there when you delivered the shipment, then….”</p><p>Mickey nodded grimly.  “...Then somebody musta put it there after it arrived in town.”  He tucked his lower lip into his mouth and nibbled it with his fangs.  “Or….”</p><p>“Or?”</p><p>“<em> Or </em> it never was there in the first place.”</p><p>Minnie’s eyes grew wide.  “...You think this ...Baron person lied to you about it?”</p><p>“It’s possible.  That, or he coulda had something to do with it’s gettin’ there.  You remember meeting him that day you came?”</p><p>“Yes.”  That made her almost smile.  “I thought he was you at first.  I’m glad he wasn’t.”</p><p>Mickey’s nose wrinkled.  “Yech.  Can’t be gladder than <em> I </em> am.”</p><p>“He didn’t seem to like me very much.”</p><p>“He doesn’t.  An’ he’s been pretty noisy about it for a long time.”  Mickey walked to the edge of the murky swamp and looked out over the water, watching the fireflies twinkle in and out of sight.  “...It’s a problem.  I don’t like t’think that even <em> he’d </em>be bold enough to try pullin’ off a stunt like that right under my nose.  But the fact is that he’s been lookin’ for a fight for a while now.  Always suggesting this n’ that.”  He made a wordless, disgusted sort of sound and shook his head.  “...Probably listened to too much of his advice already.”</p><p>Minnie’s cheeks felt warm again.  She thought of that, of the vague, faraway Mickey who was so cross and impatient, who was suspicious and irritable.  It would’ve been easy to judge him for that, but then, there were voices in Minnie’s ears, too.  Always had been.  She drifted to stand beside him.  “If you suspect him, why come to me?”  She glanced his way, and when he returned her look, she tucked her chin to her chest.  “I mean - w-we’re not <em> really </em> allies, at least not technically.  If someone like the Baron isn’t faithful to you, that could be a dangerous liability.  I’d be the last person you’d want to know about it.”</p><p>“Yeah.  You would.  If you wanted to fight.”  His mouth looked odd for a moment, until she realized he was chewing on the inside of his cheek now.  He puffed them both up, then let the air out and shrugged.  “...On the other hand, if you <em> didn’t </em> wanna fight, I’d say that’d be a pretty powerful friend to have.”</p><p>A friend.  Minnie shivered although there was no wind.  She let the frogs and crickets and owls fill a little of the stillness.  “You trust me - that much?”</p><p>Mickey smiled a little.  “Well...told ya I’m a chump.  Shyster thinks I am, at least.  Maybe he’s right about me.  Or maybe I’m right about<em> you </em>.”  She turned to him more fully and he reached for her hands again.  This time, instead of a comforting gesture, it felt almost formal, ceremonial.  He spoke with an intensity she’d never seen in him before, and yet, somehow, she must’ve always known it was there.  </p><p>“Yer smart, Minnie.  I always knew you were - I just thought you were wastin’ yer smarts on thinkin’ up trouble for me.  But I don’t think so any more.  I don’t think you want alla this fuss and fightin’ any more than I do, you never did.  I think we’ve both been punchin’ at shadows for years, but it doesn’t have to be that way.  I - I don’t <em> want </em> it to be that way, not anymore.”  His eyes sparked - they almost seemed to glow.  “I think we could <em> end </em> this feud, once and for all.  Our people could get along together again, be friends with each other.  We could make it happen, Minnie, I believe that.  <em> That’s </em> why I came tonight.  We could do it, if we work together.”</p><p>Minnie could hardly believe her own ears.  If it hadn’t been for Mickey’s eyes meeting hers, his hands holding hers, she might not have believed them at all.  Mickey let go of her again then, moving to walk in a little circle, running both hands over his head with such anxious energy that he immediately looked tousled and mussed.  “Aw, I know it won’t be easy.  There’s plenny of folks besides Shyster who are rarin’ to fight.  We’ll be rowin’ upstream with both our clans, but I know if we can just get ‘em to talk to each other, to see past all the gripin’ and nonsense - just like you and me, Minnie - then - then -”</p><p>He was beginning to stammer.  Minnie caught his sleeve, shaking her head so that her curls bounced happily.  “Oh, Mickey - I feel just the same!”</p><p>He stopped.  “You do?”</p><p>“Of course I do!  Oh!  I can’t tell you how much I was wishing and hoping -” she cut herself off, feeling that even now, perhaps he didn’t need to know about all of her wishes and hopes, particularly some of the ones she was trying not to know about herself.  But that couldn’t stop her from beaming at him like the moon itself, clasping her hands together beneath her chin.  “Oh, just think of how wonderful it would be if we could all live freely again, travel through the valley - even the graveyard!  We could fly under the moon and you could pick bloodberries and - oh!  Oh, but what about the Baron?”</p><p>Mickey’d been grinning along with her delight, but as her glee faded, so did his.  He made a face.  “...Yeah, that’s the trouble.  Even if we up and announced we were makin’ peace, I don’t think folks would take to it right away.  It’ll take some time to ease into things.  An’ if the Baron is goin’ behind my back, tryin’ to stir up trouble….”</p><p>“...Then he might take even more drastic steps when he finds out you want peace instead,” Minnie finished for him.  Mickey nodded.  She pulled a curl over her shoulder and twisted it around her finger for a moment.</p><p>“...There might be trouble on my end too,” she admitted, and sighed when Mickey raised a brow for her to continue.  “...Some of the ghouls - one in particular.  Pete.  I think he’s as hungry for a fight as your Baron Shyster - or more.  I …I think he might’ve had something to do with that roadblock.”  She shuddered, but couldn’t help feeling relieved at this admission.  It had been pricking her conscience.  “He hasn’t done anything too bad that I know of, but … I can’t trust him, either.  He hates everyone and everything to do with Spire Mountain, and I don’t think he cares to listen to reason about it.”</p><p>“I guess some folks never will.”  Mickey only looked glum until he became conscious that Minnie looked that way too, and then he drew himself up.  “But most of ‘em will.  They’ll change their minds like we did.  I know they will.  We’ll just haveta do it slowly.  Let ‘em have time to get used to things.  Then they’ll see.”</p><p>“You really think so?”</p><p>It was bait for encouragement, but Mickey bit happily.  “Of course I do!  Just wait.  Soon we’ll have all that stuff you said before.  Flyin’ under the moon, a’an’ travelin’ and - and all sortsa stuff.  Why, we’ll throw a party, that’s what, an’ we’ll all celebrate together.”</p><p>“In the graveyard!”</p><p>“Why not?”  His fangs caught the moonlight as he beamed.  “Biggest party you ever saw!  Aw, Minnie, I -”  </p><p>They’d drifted very close to one another in their delight.  Now, Mickey lowered his eyes.  “W-well… I… I’m just glad you feel the way I do about it, that’s all.  Guess we’ll have to keep it kind of quiet for a little while, but soon….”</p><p>“Soon,” she echoed fervently.</p><p>“Soon.”</p><p> </p><p>They were still beaming at one another like little fools when a small explosion shook the house.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Witch's Valuable Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Yipe!”  Mickey took a step backwards, pulling Minnie along with him protectively.  She enjoyed it, honestly, and was feeling really very happy when he looked at her pie-eyed a moment later.  “What was that?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that was Clarabelle in the kitchen, I expect.  She has a sort of unusual way of making tea.”  Minnie giggled, then clapped her hands together in sudden thought.  “Oo!  Would you care for a cup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh...s-sure,” Mickey agreed, although he didn’t sound sure at all.  He did follow her willingly enough back toward the house, however.  It seemed clear that the understanding he’d hoped to reach had been reached indeed.  He half reached back under his cape as he followed along after her, because he’d intended to say - he’d just been interrupted before he could - well, never mind for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey had always been the type of fellow to trust his gut.  He’d trusted it when it had told him Shyster was a bit of a blister, he trusted it when it told him the dawn was approaching even behind the thickest cover of clouds, and he trusted it when it told him to trust Minnie.  He’d been pretty nervous, coming all this way just to try and form an alliance which anybody must feel went against the interests of his own people, against decades of tradition and prejudice.  But you couldn’t argue with your gut, and Mickey’s told him he’d been right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was something else, too.  He couldn’t have put it into words, but when Minnie’d looked at him with those tear-filled eyes, he’d felt something that he’d never felt before, not once in all his years, and he didn’t know if it had to do with guts or with something totally different.  He did know, with a rare kind of introspective clarity, that he never wanted her to cry like that again, and that he would’ve done any number of things - even ridiculous things - to ensure she never did.  Mickey wasn’t sure where that left him, but that’s where he was.</span>
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  <span>He followed Minnie back into the smoke-filled kitchen, where Clarabelle was just lifting a big kettle onto the table using her apron for protection.  Goofy was seated at the table, watching her, and he looked up as they approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you two are!  I was startin’ to think you’d come to no good.  Is everything all right?”  She fixed Minnie with a hard squint, and the little witch squirmed under the weight of it, suddenly aware of her possibly red and puffy eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, Clarabelle - we just had a lot to talk about, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.  Well, sit down if you want a cup of tea.  Goofy’s just finished up so I thought I’d boil the kettle up before he left.”  Minnie trotted right over and pulled out a chair, patting it invitingly.  Mickey couldn’t believe it.  It really was just some arcane tea-making process.  As he moved towards the table, Goofy watched him very narrowly.  Minnie noticed it too, because she cleared her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er...Goofy, this is Count Mickey.  I told you he was coming by this evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey, huh?”  Goofy rubbed his chin as Mickey offered a guilty smile.  “...You ain’t got a brother or anythin’, have ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-nope.”  Mickey sat down.  “No brothers.”  He took the steaming hot cup that Minnie poured for him and busied himself in blowing on it.  Goofy just stared at him, and Mickey was really waiting for the pieces to fall into place, but apparently they did not, because eventually Goofy just sighed and shrugged his shoulders, sipping at his own teacup.  Mickey took a sip too.  The tea was strong, and, frankly, a little bit terrible, but just as he swallowed it, his eye caught Clarabelle’s, so he just smiled again.  “...Gosh.  Yum,” he said politely.  It didn’t seem to convince her, but she didn’t argue about it either.  They all drank tea in silence for a few uncomfortable moments, until she said,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So - will you be stayin’ long, Count Mickey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced toward Minnie, unsure how he should take the question.  Was it a hint to move things along?  But Minnie smiled at him, just a tiny smile, and that gave him some hope.  “Oh...w-well, I … I wouldn’t say I’ll be stayin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> long.  Jus’ the right amount.  Of time.”  He took a long sip of tea and tried not to make a face.  “Oh yeah! Uh - I wanted to say thanks - again - f-for the flower you sent along.  For my friend Donald.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie perked up at once.  “Did he give it to his lady friend? Did she like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he said she seemed to.  Sorta hard to tell with Donald.  He, uh, tends to put kinda a positive spin on things when it might look bad otherwise.  I can’t see how she wouldn’t though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful!”  Minnie clapped her hands before giving a little gasp.  “Would you like another one to take to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh...s-sure?”  Minnie was up and pattering around the room almost before he got the answer out, digging right into a bouquet that was standing on the workbench near the fire , returning a moment later with a handful of lovely fat blossoms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here!  I’m sure she’ll love these.  Oh, only I haven’t got anything to put them in so they don’t get crushed.  Hmmm…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got an extra frog basket or two,” Goofy offered.  “Want one of ‘em?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll be fine!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sat awkwardly while this whole exchange went on, but gave Minnie a grateful look anyway when she finally handed him a little box with the roses tucked inside, which he tucked into his cloak, somewhere or other.  “Thanks.  That’s awful nice of ya.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mention it!  It’s a shame more flowers don’t grow on Spire Mountain.  I’m sure it’d brighten things up some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey couldn’t help smiling at that.  “Well, vampires mostly try to keep things from gettin’ brightened up too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> not what I mean.  Flowers lend such a - a funarual air to things.  A quiet, mournful dignity.  Your castle would look very broody with some lovely arrangements here and there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess it would, now you mention it.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked pleased, and Mickey was trying to think of something else to say that might make her look even more pleased, before he was interrupted by the mournful peal of a bell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like somebody’s at the door,” Goofy observed, draining his teacup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now who in the woods could that be?” Clarabelle shot a look towards Mickey as if he might’ve had something to do with it.  Minnie just frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dear.  I’d hoped we wouldn’t be disturbed while - what I mean to say is, I didn’t exactly spread the word around that I … that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you invited a vampire into the house,” Clarabelle supplied, a little mercilessly.  The bell rang a second time, and Minnie’s frown deepened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to say it like that.  It’s a diplomatic visit!  But - still, some folks might object.”  She shot Mickey a significant look, thinking of Pete.  He caught her meaning at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no!  Not yet.  Not so soon.”  Minnie shot those big brown eyes his way.  “Maybe we could just be discreet about it - just while I see who it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’mean, make myself scarce.”  When she nodded, almost apologetically, Mickey set his teacup down and got to his feet.  “Don’t worry.  Y’won’t even know I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph!  I shouldn’t wonder,” Clarabelle scoffed.  Mickey pretended not to hear her - it was Minnie’s opinion he was mostly concerned with.  He flung his cloak around himself and an instant later, the trio of forest-dwellers watched as a little black bat circled the kitchen, then flew up among the pots and bottles on one of Minnie’s shelves and vanished, offering only a little squeak to show he was still there at all.  Goofy looked startled at all this, and Clarabelle’s eyes narrowed almost to slits.  But Minnie clapped her hands happily.  “Perfect! Stay right there - I’m sure it won’t take a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hurried from the kitchen as the bell rang a third time.  It did occur to Mickey, in the few moments she was gone, to wonder whether whoever was at the door had anything to do with that Pete character she’d mentioned.  This was clearly not the case, however, because very shortly Minnie came back, talking over her shoulder to a stout woman who appeared to be a were-beast of some kind or other.  She was carrying a little child in her arms, sucking its thumb and nestling its head into the crook of her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-So sorry to bother you, but Rowdy just hasn’t been herself lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, don’t apologize!  I’m glad you came.  It’s been hard to keep up lately, and I’d hate to think of you waiting all the way at the end of the village for someone to come, and with a child sick with swamp fever too.  Now I just finished making a batch of moonquartz tonic, and it’s extra-strong, too! I’m sure that’ll set things to rights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie scurried to the cupboard and rooted around for a second before withdrawing a bottle of shimmering, opalescent liquid.  “Here it is!  Now, let’s not waste any time.”  She wrestled with the cork for a moment before it let go with a satisfying pop.  Her next movement was to collect an unused teaspoon, and then she approached the were-mother, already pouring out a careful dose.  “Here you are - c’mon now, Rowdy, take this.  Aw, open up, there’s a good girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The were-child resisted at first, but eventually gave in to Minnie’s coaxing and flung her mouth open about as wide as Mickey’d seen a mouth go, which made him smile.  She had little wee fangs too, not so different from a vampire child of that age.  Minnie slipped the spoonful of medicine down and she swallowed it with a little grimace and twitch of her nose, but then settled quietly back onto her mother’s shoulder again.  Minnie recorked the bottle and handed it over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There, now, she should be feeling better and up to mischief in no time.  I’m awfully sorry I couldn’t bring you any tonic before now, but last month’s supplies had already run out -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t you apologize, mistress.  I know you’d be right there by her bedside if you could.  There isn’t enough time in the night and there’s scarcely enough moonquartz to go ‘round these past few months.  No, if there’s anyone to blame, it’s that awful count.  Always squeezing us dry and scarcely willing to give up anything in fair trade.  If those folk Up There weren’t so mean and miserable, our youngsters could play in the moonlight out in the valley and we wouldn’t have such awful outbreaks of swamp fever in the first place.  It’d do them a whole world of good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle had moved to the pot on the fire, and Goofy had been inching towards the door throughout this exchange, but everybody seemed to freeze now.  It was like the air had gone out of the room.  Minnie clasped her hands.  “...I-I know it would.  But … but it isn’t all the fault of the count.  I’m sure if he could - that is - I’m sure it’s complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing complicated about it!  If he was wicked and wonderful like you, it wouldn’t be half so troublesome.  But he never will be, I suppose.  You just can’t reason with vampires.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that.”  When the woman looked surprised at the vehemence in Minnie’s voice, the little witch turned away.  “...There’s always hope.  One day things may change after all.  I believe that, and I hope you will too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked to Clarabelle, confused.  But Clarabelle just squirmed and shrugged her shoulders.  “Well… perhaps.  But anyhow, listen to me prattling on.  Thank you for the medicine, mistress, I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all.  You’ll let me know how Rowdy gets on, won’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I will.  Good night, mistress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie saw her visitors back to the door. It was very quiet in the kitchen when she returned.  Goofy was twisting his hat in his hands, and Clarabelle pretended to mind the fire while Mickey drifted down from his hiding place and stood once more in his true shape.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’m sorry,” Minnie began, very softly, but Mickey shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be.  Ain’t got anything to be sorry about.  I’m the only one who oughta be sorry.  I guess...huh.”  He rested his hands on his hips, shuffling a toe against the floorboards.  “Guess I’m pretty lucky, really.  Well, it ain’t every day a guy in my position gets to know what people really think of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey….”  Minnie reached out to touch his sleeve, but pulled back, too self-conscious under the gaze of Clarabelle and Goofy.  The latter seemed to sense what the former could - or more likely would not.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er… evenin’s gettin’ on, so… guess I better be goin’.”  Minnie roused herself the best she could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course!  Thanks for all your help, Goofy.  I’m sure this time, that’ll take care of everything for a few weeks at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No trouble at all!”  Goofy beamed, donning his cap again.  A single croak sounded from somewhere, but they all pretended not to hear it.  “It was nice meetin’ ya, count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you too, Goofy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused one more time in the doorway.  “...You sure you haven’t got a brother?  Or a cousin or somethin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.  Well, so long.”  He inclined his head and saw himself out.  Minnie cleared her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-would you… care to see a little more of the house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure,” Mickey agreed, at least once he realized she was staring at him a little expectantly.  They slunk out of the kitchen and out from under Clarabelle’s still-watchful eye.  When they were back in the parlor, she did touch his arm.  Neither of them needed to discuss that touring the house wasn’t half so desirable as being able to speak privately again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what Mrs. Brekabone said -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it true?” he interrupted softly, and turned to face her more fully.  “...About th’ swamp fever an’ the moonlight and all that, I mean.  About how it’s hard on th’ little kids.  Is that true?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked at the floor.  “...Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How come you didn’t tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Because I didn’t want you to know.”  She walked a few slow paces, straightening nick-nacks on the end table and brushing invisible dust from the chaise lounge.  “We always quarreled so much about trade and everything.  I thought if if you found out how badly we needed the moonquartz, then….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d give me more leverage.  An’ I’d use it against you,” he finished for her.  Minnie didn’t turn back, but he saw her nod silently.  He let that affirmation sink in for a little time, let it make him feel rotten.  Then he took a breath and let it out decisively.  “Well - that’s the first thing, then.  Gotta start somewhere after all.  I’ll allow your people to come an’ go freely through the valley.  Even if it means passin’ through the graveyard.”  When Minnie shot a startled look at him, Mickey shrugged his shoulders.  “Ain’t any </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> law against it anyhow.  We just agreed on it.  So, now we’re agreein’ I’m allowin’ it.  I’ll just make sure everyone knows nobody from Evernight Forest is to be disturbed, on penalty of - well, I’ll figure that part out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Mickey, would you really do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A’course I would.  I’m the Count, after all.  My word’s still good for somethin’, I guess.”  He drifted toward her without quite noticing, smile brightening as he drew real confidence from trying to appear so for her sake.  “Don’t worry.  We’ve kept everybody at a low enough simmer for this long, even when we were yappin’ at each other all th’ time.  I’ll fix it all up, you’ll see.”  He admired her smile for a moment before making a face.  “...Sure would be easier to work together without Shyster breathin’ down my neck all th’time, tho,” he admitted.  Minnie’s face fell too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and Clarabelle, although at least she means well.”  Her eyes widened.  “Oh!  Wait a minute!”  She dashed to the doorway, whirling back with her skirts spinning around her to admonish, “Don’t move!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey was too intrigued to disobey, and so was still standing where he was when Minnie returned.  He thought he heard a frog again, but probably it was his imagination.  He resisted the urge to look under the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Minnie came back, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled.  He tried not to notice, but his heart thudded such that he couldn’t help it when she took his hand and pressed something into it.  “Here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this?”  Mickey turned the little circular object over in his hand before Minnie put her fingers over his and showed him where to press to release the little clasp.  When it opened up, he realized he was holding a little compact mirror like the one she’d shown him before.  This one had, appropriately enough, a bat carved into the lid.  Mickey understood her thinking immediately and his eyes snapped to hers, every bit as aglow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can talk to each other whenever we like,” she almost whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An’ nobody else needs to know,” he agreed.  They beamed wickedly at one another.  Once more, Mickey started to reach within his cloak, mouth half-opened to speak, when -  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie, darlin’?  Is everythin’ all right in there?” Clarabelle’s voice drifted in from the other room, as if on cue.  Mickey swiftly pocketed the compact while Minnie guiltily replied,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, Clarabelle!  Just… showing the count around!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I better not outstay my welcome,” Mickey murmured.  Minnie wanted to argue, but couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t always quite so </span>
  <em>
    <span>crowded</span>
  </em>
  <span> around here - but Clarabelle was awfully worried about me I think.  She’s always been a little suspicious of strangers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, I don’t mind that.  I’m glad you’ve got such good friends lookin’ out for ya.  Just means I’ll have to work even harder to prove I’m your friend too, right?”  He dimpled at her, turning away without noticing the color that rushed to her cheeks.  “Say, uh… w-would it be okay if we walk together again - jus’ a little ways?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course!” she squeaked, hurrying to walk alongside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Goody Clarabelle,” Mickey offered as they passed her in the entryway where she was busily trying to look like someone who has no interest in eavesdropping.  “I’ve rarely had more charming hostesses or a more potent cup of tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Clarabelle looked flustered.  “Well...you’re quite welcome, I’m sure.  Goodbye, count.”  She hesitated, then dropped a clumsy curtsy that made Minnie hide a smile behind her hand.  They went out again together, she and Mickey, and walked slowly for a short distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you came,” Minnie said, very softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So am I.”  Mickey turned to face her, feeling as though there was something he desperately wanted to say.  The only trouble was, when she looked back at him, he didn’t know what it was at all.  He could feel it, somewhere in his chest, but he didn’t have any words for it, not a one.  So at last he just gave a little laugh instead.  “Well - I-I feel a little guilty.  I mean, goin’ home with a coupla swell presents an’ here I am, turnin’ up empty-handed.  Sorta wish there was somethin’ I could give you back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you have!”  Minnie tucked a curl back from her cheek.  “There was the extra moonquartz, to begin with, and if you could really find a way to make the valley safe for the were-folk, that’d mean just everything to us!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw - well - yeah, there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mickey hedged.  “But that’s different.  That ain’t really like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>gift</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s brow furrowed, then she blinked slowly, and her gaze became a little shifty.  “Er...well….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There...there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah?” He brightened.  “What’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...The book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Book.  What book?”  His face pinched in thought.  Minnie ceased to look sheepish and stared at him openly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The - the spell book! The one I told you about!  We fought about it.”  When he continued to look at her expressionlessly, she blew a lock of hair back.  “Silk and spinnerets, are you always this forgetful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that I recall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s eyes got wide, and she was speechless for a second.  Then his pale eyes squinted up and she realized with a little jolt that he was grinning again.  He was teasing her.  “...Now that you mention it, tho, seems I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> recall something about that.  Red with gold trimmings an’ whatnot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.  He really was infuriating, she’d been right all the time.  That smile and those eyes and one hand rubbing his chin, the other draped over his slender waist.  “Yes, that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh.  As I think back, I said forget about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did.  And I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you’d put a curse on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked coy.  “I never said that.  I said I </span>
  <em>
    <span>ought</span>
  </em>
  <span> to put a curse on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aha.  Well, I still don’t know what book you’re talkin’ about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie pursed her lips, unsure how she wanted to feel.  In that moment, it felt like she could fully integrate for the first time the sweet, boyish Mickey who seemed so gentle and good-natured, and the troublesome count who always knew how to rile her up better than anyone.  The terrifying part was how much she liked it.  “Well - if you ever happen to find it -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wait a second.”  Mickey snapped his fingers and reached back around under his cloak, digging into whatever unseen pocket or compartment held the things she’d given him.  A moment later, he withdrew a weathered volume of some size, with a faded red cover and gold trim.  Minnie’s mouth opened soundlessly as he presented it to her, blue eyes aglow, and the most maddening smile yet drawing at his handsome mouth.  “...Y’don’t mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> book - do ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way she looked at him made him feel well-paid for all his nonsense - and the trouble he’d taken to find the book in the first place.  He was more than satisfied with her reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, he was too surprised to do anything.  But when she didn’t immediately pull away, he slowly rested his empty hand on her waist and drew her ever so slightly, barely, closer.  Just for a second, he closed his eyes too.  She smelled so good, like herbs and flowers, that he wanted to bury his face in her hair and breathe it in, like the biggest creep imaginable.  He resisted long enough for her to slide her hands back to his shoulders and move far enough to look up at him again, flushed and beaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey - oh, Mickey -!”  She couldn’t say anything else for a second and Mickey didn’t dare try.  But he pressed the book into her hands and she hugged that too, squeezing it against her chest.  He was a little jealous, now he knew a little more about such things.  “Thank you - oh, thank you </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she finally breathed, and he smiled so hard he thought his fangs might fall out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t nothin’,” he mumbled.  “A-anyhow, guess I better -” he gestured vaguely.  “But I’ll talk to you soon.  With the mirror.  I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she sighed.  He shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  So… so long...Minnie….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G’bye.”  Her lashes lowered as the breeze kissed her face and he almost groaned, bending into a little bow instead.  Before anything else could happen, he changed shape and flew away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, he circled her once because he couldn’t help himself, but then he flew straight away.  Minnie watched until he disappeared, and then turned and floated dreamily back to the house, clutching the precious book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for Mickey, he felt as though he could’ve flown home with no wings at all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Many Conversations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Mickey got back to the village that night, the first thing he did was swing by to see Donald and drop off the box of flowers Minnie’d given him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s everybody so interested in me and Daisy, anyhow?” Donald asked suspiciously, even though he took the box right away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno.  Mebbe you’re just the sorta guy that makes folks feel sorry for ya and wanna help you,” Mickey suggested.  Donald didn’t seem to like this notion, but it didn’t prevent him from carrying the box away with him even while he stuck his tongue out at Mickey over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Mickey was really dreading was his next encounter with Baron Shyster, and so he did what many people do when faced with a very disagreeable task: he determined to get it over with as quickly as possible, and summoned the Baron straight to his castle via messenger hawk.  Nothing would’ve given Mickey greater pleasure than to hear that the Baron was busy and couldn’t come for weeks or possibly years, but he showed up with characteristic promptness and found Mickey waiting for him in the study.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must confess, I was pleased to receive your message, Your Grace.  I hope this means you’ve decided on a suitable response to recent incidents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have.  An’ yer not gonna like it,” Mickey said bluntly.  Shyster blinked, obviously taken aback.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sank into a chair.  His head didn’t ache yet, but he could feel it coming on.  “I’ve spoken with the witch.  An’ effective immediately, I’m revoking restrictions on her people comin’ and going through the graveyard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You - what?”  Shyster’s eyes fairly bugged out of his head.  “Why?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my business to worry about.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yours</span>
  </em>
  <span> is to see to it that there isn’t any nonsense.  If I hear about any trouble - an’ I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> trouble, I don’t care if it’s demons or one of them smartalec kids from the village.  I catch word of any bullyin’ or scrappin’, I’m gonna hold </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> personally responsible, understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster’s pasty face looked even more bloodless than usual.  “...Your Grace, I absolutely must protest.  Forgive me, but have you lost your mind?  Have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgotten</span>
  </em>
  <span> what the witch did not two nights ago?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I ain’t.  I’ve got a pretty sharp memory, in fact.  Sharp enough to remember checkin’ those bloodberries </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I went </span>
  <em>
    <span>personally</span>
  </em>
  <span> to pick them up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having thus dropped his bomb, Mickey watched Shyster very closely.  As his face really couldn’t get any more pale, it stayed the way he was, but his jaw clenched very tight and his nostrils flared for just a moment.  He turned away and Mickey stared at his back as hard as he could until he looked back again.  His expression was now quite calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I see.  Certainly I would never presume to question whether you might’ve simply failed to notice the garlic’s presence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.  B’cause I didn’t.  It wasn’t there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not.  Yes, I see.”  He drew in a deep breath.  “Well.  This news has very serious implications.  It would seem someone from the village has chosen to play a very dangerous and foolish prank.  I’ll investigate immediately, My Lord, and I assure you, I will question the workers very closely.  The responsible parties will be made to understand this is no laughing matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” was Mickey’s only response.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> hadn’t said anything about it being a prank.  It was a logical enough conclusion, to be sure - or a convenient one.  But when he didn’t push back, Shyster cleared his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...If you were concerned about the exchange, Your Grace, you should’ve notified me.  I could’ve seen to things on your behalf.  I’d be delighted to accompany next month’s shipment myself and see to its safe receipt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that won’t be necessary.  Just focus on keeping that graveyard safe and sound.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er...yes.  About that.  I still don’t see - notwithstanding these developments - I don’t see why we should grant such a - a </span>
  <em>
    <span>major</span>
  </em>
  <span> concession to the swamp witch.  The graveyard has been off-limits to their kind for decades.  Why - why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sat up straight.  “Baron, didja ever just know in your guts that somethin’ was the right thing to do, an’ do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought.  Will ya excuse me now please?  I’ve got a lot of things to do an’ dawn’s comin’ on.”  He rose to his feet.  “I’m countin’ on you, Shyster.  Don’t disappoint me, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster’s face twisted into a scowl for just an instant, but then it was gone.  “...Don’t worry, My Lord.  I’ll do what needs to be done.”  He bowed, and when he’d left the room, Mickey sank back into the chair almost immediately.  Geez.  There was no way of knowing for sure just how involved Shyster was in that garlic business, but he sure wasn’t gonna be happy about all this, and it was a cinch that a lot of other people would feel the same way, once word got out.  But that was a bridge to cross when he came to it.  He really believed what he’d said, about it being the right thing, so there was no helping it.  He’d just have to weather the storm when it came.  And, really, how bad could it be, anyway?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he thought it, he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t try to answer himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first tangible signs of how difficult things were going to be came when Minnie called a town meeting to announce the happy change.  Of course, getting something that everybody had wanted for their whole lives, had talked about all the time, and had complained about being deprived of could only have one result: everybody was upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I want to know is, why does the count think he can jerk us around like this?”  A burly wereboar turned and cast an incredulous look over the rest of the assembly, gaining several nods of agreement for his trouble.  “After all this time, he’s just gonna snap his fingers an’ tell us what we can and can’t do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a monumental effort for Minnie to control her facial expression as she rested her chin on her fingertips.  “I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Snorf.  But I would like to point out that, technically, that is how things have always been.  We’ve stayed out of the graveyard because the leaders of Spire Mountain and Evernight Forest have never been able to come to an agreement about it.  And now we have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Well, I don’t like it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and how do we know it’s even safe?  How do we know it isn’t some sort of trick?” fretted a reedy, fluttery villager, twisting her bonnet strings in her feathery fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of trick do you suspect, Goody Sapsucker?” Minnie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t a clue.  That’s what makes me most suspicious!”  A murmur of agreement went up from the assembly.  Minnie scanned the crowd for some sort of friendly face, and did catch the eye of Mrs. Brekabone - but she looked down into her lap after a moment and didn’t say anything at all.  Minnie swallowed hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody - everybody!  Now let’s just simmer down.  I understand it’s a big change and we’ve had lots of reasons not to trust one another in the past. But if we ever want anything to change, we have to start somewhere.  Now I know many of you may not be comfortable doing things differently just at first and that’s all right.  But you have my word that Count Mickey and his people will honor their agreement.  So even if you don’t feel you can trust them, know that you can trust me.  All right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ripple of noise that went up again didn’t sound entirely positive, but Minnie wasn’t about to stand there and argue for another hour.  Besides, if she spent any longer, she was liable to start losing her temper.  So she left it there for now, and went out into the night drawing in deep breaths of the cool, damp air to calm herself.  She didn’t have much time to feel calm.  A moment later, a familiar and unwelcome voice spoke from behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, at least somebody’s stickin’ up for us forest folk around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie turned as Pete approached, bracing herself.  “...I certainly hope you were listening to what I said in there, Pete.  About being on our best behavior and not spoiling this chance by causing trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who, me?  Why, yer gonna hurt my feelin’s.  I’d never dream of it!  B’sides, I was bein’ truthful-like!  I been sayin’ it for years, we oughta be able to come an’ go in the graveyard as we pleases!  Far as I’m concerned, everything’s hunky-dory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then...y-you’re in support of all this? Of more peace between Spire Mountain and us?” Minnie raised a brow doubtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sure!”  He shrugged his enormous shoulders.  “Can’t just keep pokin’ at each other here an’ there forever, can we?  Gotta put an end to it sometime, don’t we?  You’d be s’prised how agreeatatin’ a guy I can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yes, well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Minnie managed after a doubtful pause.  “I hope that you’ll be one of the first people I’ll see enjoying the moonlight and the graveyard, then - </span>
  <em>
    <span>peacefully</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’ll be enjoyin’ myself all right, don’t you worry.”  He winked at her and Minnie shuddered.  “Mebbe some night, we could try enjoyin’ it at th’ same time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-maybe.”  She took a step back.  “Well, I hate to rush but I’ve got an awful lot to do.  Good night, Pete.”  Minnie offered a tiny wave, then scurried off as quickly as she could toward home.  He was still looking after her when she shot a glance back, waving his meaty fingers daintily.  It was troubling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For his part, Mickey wasn’t doing much better.  He hadn’t bothered to call a town hall meeting, but he regretted this decision by the next night, when news of his decision was all over town and every three steps he went through the village, somebody stopped him to complain about it.  He could guess why easily enough.  Baron Shyster must’ve done a very efficient job of letting everybody know where things stood.  Whether he would work as hard at maintaining the peace as he had blabbing the news to everyone remained to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, Count Mickey, the thought of those - those ruffians, those fleabags, defiling the graveyard after all this time, when we have just as much right to be there as they have, and even more -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, Miz Cluck, but ya really can’t go on callin’ them that, y’know.  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It isn’t polite.  B’sides, if ya </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> t’go down into the graveyard, why doncha?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With those - those - Down Back creatures there?  I’m sure I could never step foot in the place.  It’s an outrage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey scratched his ear.  “But - why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah.  I mean...have you ever stepped foot there </span>
  <em>
    <span>before?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miz Cluck’s tawny face reddened, but Mickey didn’t think it was out of embarrassment.  “Well!” she said, and couldn’t seem to spit out whatever she would’ve liked to say next.  That was all right with Mickey, however.  By the time it was getting close to daylight, he’d had a similar conversation ten or twelve times and it was clear the villagers didn’t approve of his presumption.  Probably it hadn’t been the wisest choice, making such a big decision so suddenly.  But darn it, why shouldn’t he do something bold for once?  How was anything ever gonna change if you dragged your feet?  And nobody ever seemed to mind when he’d made impulsive decisions before, which he’d done a lot, honestly.  But that was usually because he got mad and did something petty to spite the witch.  Mickey wasn’t such a fool that he couldn’t see the difference.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t the only one with troubles, either.  Nobody ever is the only one. Late that same evening, Donald was on his way over to Daisy’s chateau with the box of roses Mickey had given him, stomach twisting itself into knots.  Despite all the things he said to Mickey, and the confident way he liked to brag about Daisy’s regard for him, the cold hard truth was that Donald wasn’t sure if she even liked him a little bit or not.  Sometimes it seemed like she did, and other times he wondered whether she’d ever give him a real sign of whether he had any hope or not.  And Mickey was no help, he thought ungratefully, even as he clutched the box in his hand.  Nobody was.  Nobody really knew how he felt.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> never tell them, he’d rather be staked; but he sort of wished someone would just figure it out on their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After clanging the iron door-knocker, he awkwardly hid the box behind his back at the last moment, as Daisy opened up the door.  She smiled when she saw him, but if you knew Daisy, that didn’t mean much.  Sometimes she smiled wider at people she didn’t like than those she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, Donald!  This </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a surprise.  Back again so soon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er - well - yes.  Hello, Daisy.”  He shifted from one foot to the other.  On the way over, he’d planned out ten or eleven really suave things to say.  Then he’d forgotten all of them, so now he had no ideas at all, and after a tortuous moment of silence, he produced the box and held it out.  “Here.  I gotcha somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again?  That’s the third time this week!  Well - won’t you come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you insist.”  Donald followed the object of his affections into her sitting room, feeling the same sense of rising panic he always felt at such times.  Typically, things went one of two ways from there: either he would be so flustered and tongue-tied that he would stammer out all kinds of nonsense that he could barely recall afterwards, or he would overact such unspeakable smarmy ease that Daisy would be forced to relieve herself of him after ten or fifteen minutes, because that was as long as she could maintain any kind of straight face.  But at least he felt a little less helpless in this case, so he attempted to build up to this every chance he got.  Today, he stuffed his hands into his pockets as she shot a coy little look back over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So - guess ya been keeping track of all th’ stuff I’ve brought along for ya, then, huh, Toots?  Well, that’s me - Generous Donald, folks call me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they really?”  Daisy’s long lashes fluttered.  “But I suppose I</span>
  <em>
    <span> have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been able to manage keeping count as high as three.”  Donald laughed, but wasn’t sure if he was supposed to.  Still, Daisy invited him to a chair and then sat herself, resting the box on her lap.  “Shall I open it now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure!  Might as well while it’s fresh.  Can’t get stuff like that around here, I’ll tell you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m going to press the flower you gave me last time once it starts to wilt.  How </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you get ahold of it, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I got connections.  Go ahead, take a look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy smiled, and lifted the lid.  “Oh!  How beautiful.”  She bent to inhale their fragrance and Donald really felt quite proud of himself.  It was the last peaceful moment he would experience for some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next instant, a huge green frog leaped out of the box directly into Daisy’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mickey flopped down into his coffin, feeling as drained as if somebody had sucked him dry.  No fewer than thirteen people had stopped him to complain throughout town, including Calliver and Alphonse who appeared to have put their usual differences aside for the express purpose of complaining to Mickey that allowing those Down Back monsters free reign to roam the valley was ruining everything - everything - about their haunts down to the human village.  They might have to see werefolk on a regular basis, might even have to speak to them.  It was upsetting.  It was intolerable.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey felt pretty upset himself, but he had tried to seem calm and reassuring.  He was sure the forest folk would keep to themselves and would it </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> be so bad to offer a friendly hello or good evening now and then?  Yes, it would be the worst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d promised to take their concerns under consideration and had fled back to his castle where he was now laying, wondering about what would happen if he went through the whole village clunking everybody’s heads together until they saw reason.  Had it always been this way?  He tried to think back to before he’d met Minnie, how he would’ve felt about all this.  It was hard to be honest with oneself about these things; he liked to believe he would’ve been open-minded, but who could say?  Maybe he really was the one who was nuts.  It just felt like lately, the only person who he could really talk to, who really understood him was….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled over, felt in the pocket of his waistcoat for the compact she’d given him, which he withdrew and examined for a moment.  He really didn’t have a good reason to contact her.  It was getting near dawn, too.  But then, she’d never said it was only for emergencies or anything.  He chewed on his lip, and his mind drifted back to the way she’d hugged him in her garden after he’d given her the book she wanted.  He lifted the compact and snapped the lid open.  Probably she was busy anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie?  A-are ya there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mists in the little mirror swirled lazily for a few moments.  Aw, she must be busy, there were probably a hundred different things more important than sitting around waiting for a call from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey!”  Her face appeared.  He was so startled he almost dropped the mirror.  He scrambled to sit upright, even though she would’ve had no way of knowing he wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Yeah, I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad you called.  I was just thinking about you,” she said, and his undead heart gave a little lurch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh - r-really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”  She sighed very heavily.  “I’ve had such a frustrating night.  I could just scream, but even that wouldn’t be any fun after what’s happened.  I told everyone in the town about the graveyard, but everybody’s so stubborn I don’t think a single soul will set foot in it, even for their own good!  It’s like they think it’s beneath their pride or something. I never saw anyone act so silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh!  Nobody but my folks up here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they angry with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some of ‘em are.  But even the ones who ain’t are takin’ it almost personal, like it’s their own backyard, even though most of ‘em ain’t set foot on the mountain road in years, let alone pass through the valley.  It’s just sheer spite, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her rosebud mouth turn into a sorry pout.  “Maybe we made a mistake.  Moved too fast.  I should’ve eased everyone into the idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It weren’t your fault - I’m the one who got the big idea to change the rules on everyone.  But I’d do it again.  I don’t think anybody could move slow enough to make my folks happy.  No matter what they say, I think the only change they want is no change at all.  Just want everything to stay the same forever, an’ that’s turkeyblood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose.  I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you at home, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey fell back against his pillow again, feeling far more comfortable now that he could console Minnie instead of trying to console himself.  “Aw, don’t you worry about that.  I ken handle things here.  Are...are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doin’ okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?”  She darted a look downwards, a little smile finding its way to her face.  “Well, of course.  I’m doing all right.  It is a big change for everyone, I guess, and…I suppose we were just as stubborn as anyone until a little while ago.  It’ll get better - people will find they have more in common than they thought, just like we did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yeah, just like we did,” he parroted happily.  Minnie smiled again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I - oh!  I’ve found some wonderful spells and hexes in the book you gave me.  It really was wonderful of you to - a-and I was so surprised, I - but it’s going to be such a help to me, really it is.  The section on curses is tremendous!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?  Well - I don’t know too much about magic spells, but you’ll haveta tell me more about it sometime.  Maybe I could be the first vampire warlock!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie giggled and he felt warm.  “Maybe!  You’d have to make it legal first, though.  And I’m sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> wouldn’t go over well at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re probably right.  I guess they only outlawed it in the first place to make witches feel unwelcome an’ stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same as our old Garlic Festival.  It’s all so silly, when you think about it.”  Minnie sighed.  “And I feel like I’ve been just as silly as the worst of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.  But… I’m tryin’ to do better.”  Mickey rolled onto his side again and regarded the mirror with a serious expression.  “...I wanna… I wanna really change things.  Wanna really know you.”  He blinked, and then added, stammering.  “...A-alla you, Down Back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s cheeks turned pinker.  “Me too, Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He studied her face for as long as he dared, before lowering his eyes.  “Well...s’awful early.  I should letcha go, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”  She paused. “I’m glad you called, Mickey.  You will call again, won’t you?  Any time you like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A’course I will.  A-an’ you can call me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.”  She was pinker than ever, but he didn’t notice, or else didn’t understand.  “...Good morning, Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mornin’,” he sighed, smiling.  She brushed her hair back, giggled, and then broke the connection.  Mickey closed the compact and set it aside, rolling onto his back and tucking his hands behind his head.  He already felt better.  They’d make it work somehow, they had to.  Minnie and him.  He closed his eyes, smiling.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Intimate Conversations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Mickey’d known what was in store for him, he might’ve just stayed at home the next night, but these are the chances we take every time we walk beyond our own front doors.  For starters,  his previous conversations had already clued him in to the mood descending over Spire Mountain.  Even if they hadn’t, it wouldn’t have taken long before he’d picked up pretty well on the general rumblings of discontent that were rippling through the town.  But Mickey was determined not to let them spoil his night.  It was a relief, then, to catch sight of Donald strolling down the street toward him, and made a beeline for his friend with the happy anticipation of a man who has no idea what he’s in for.</p><p>“Donald!  Hey, Donald, what’s up, pal?”  He sprang up and gave the duck a chummy slap on the shoulder.</p><p>Donald shot him a look that could’ve curdled milk, and paired it an instant later with a less than palsy shove.  “Oh, so it’s you, is it?  Get offa me.”</p><p>Mickey gave him some space, his grin fading.  Donald had his moods, sure, but this was something else.  It was less a flare of temper and more of a slow, seething simmer, which was a good deal more serious.  “Wh - what’s th’ matter?”</p><p>“I’ll tell ya what’s the matter.  You’ve got some nerve showin’ your face to me after that stunt you pulled.”</p><p>“What stunt?”</p><p>“A present for Daisy, eh?  Why, I oughta tear you limb from limb.”  He swiped a fist across his beak as if he was considering giving it a try right then and there.  Mickey held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture.</p><p>“Whoa, slow down - what’re you talking about?  Why ought’cha to tear me limb from - I mean - what happened?”</p><p>“What happened?  What happened?!  I’ll tell ya what happened!  Exactly what you fixed up, that’s what!  Soon as she opened up the box - POW!  Biggest frog I ever saw, right in the kisser.”</p><p>Mickey’s eyes bulged.  “A - what?!”</p><p>“A frog, a frog!  You heard me!”</p><p>“Ha ha!”  Mickey laughed, couldn’t help it.  He snapped his jaw shut, however, when Donald shot daggers at him with his eyes.  “Aw - shucks, I’m sorry, Donald - i-it ain’t funny, really, it’s just -”</p><p>Donald made a low, guttural growl of mental pain, clutching at his hat and clawing it down over his eyes as if to blind himself to the memory.  “I never saw a monster that big in my life - jumping everywhere, chasing it with a broom - it was a catastrophe.  Of all the dirty, rotten, no good, crummy, stinking, <em> miserable </em> -” his voice rose, degrading into an indecipherable rattle of sheer rage.  Mickey waved his hands higher, desperately trying to calm him.</p><p>“Aw, gee, Donald, I’m sorry.  I didn’t know, honest.  I’m sure it was just a mistake -”</p><p>“Mistake nothin’!  If it weren’t your doing, it was that crummy witch, just tryin’ to make my life mis’rable for no reason.  Now Daisy won’t even speak to me an’ it’s all your fault.”</p><p>Mickey’s heart sank.  “Hey… c’mon, pal. I said I was sorry.  I’m sure Daisy’ll forgive ya eventually.  An’ it wasn’t on purpose, I know Minnie would never -”</p><p>“Minnie this, Minnie that!  Nuts to Minnie!  That witch is nothing but trouble an’ yer nothing but a big, dumb sucker.  A <em> sucker </em>!”</p><p>“But Donald-”</p><p>“Don’t you touch me,” he hissed.  Mickey almost yelped.  Donald withdrew a pace.  He wasn’t wearing a cape, but if he had, he certainly would’ve tossed it back.  “I’ve had it with you!  You’ve ruined everything.  Just stay away from me!”</p><p>“Donald!”  Mickey reached out, but Donald fled.  Literally - he started to run away, slowing only to toss back over his shoulder,</p><p>“Go suck on a rock!”</p><p>Mickey stood and watched his friend disappear down a side street.  Then, as a light, misting rain began to fall, he turned slowly and headed for home.</p><p>Throughout everything that had happened so far, Mickey had never really questioned whether he was making a mistake. Not now, at least; in the past, sure, he wondered about that.  But was it possible he was trading one set of blunders for another?  There was no question about Minnie trying to pull a trick on purpose.  It had to be an accident.  But that was just the trouble.  Through no fault of anybody’s, something bad had happened anyway.  Call it carelessness or an innocent mistake, but the damage was done.  Mickey wasn’t afraid of what people might say or think so long as long as he knew he was making the right choices, but what if all his good intentions really weren’t enough?  </p><p>It was confusing.  He didn’t know what to do.  But he knew he wanted to talk to Minnie.  Ostensibly it was to tell her about what had happened, but… that wasn’t really the only reason.  He resolved to call her up just as soon as he could get back to the castle.</p><p> </p><p>At just about that same moment, Minnie was poring intently over her new treasure: the spellbook Mickey had given her.  It really was every bit as wonderful as she’d imagined, every page bursting with useful recipes and instructions and ideas.  Even better, every few lines, she would stop and smile and think about how it had felt when he’d presented the book to her and his blue eyes had glowed and she’d acted so foolishly, but his arms felt so strong when he held her close and - oh!  Oh, oh!  Then she would have to cover her face and flail her feet and shake her head for a minute or two until the agonizing delight of the memory was manageable and she could inhabit her own body again.</p><p>Thinking about their conversation the previous morning was almost just as good, although mercifully less prone to inducing such physical reactions.  When she thought of that, she would just smile very stupidly for a few moments, before taking in a breath and turning to the next page, where her attention would last for four or five minutes, repeat.  She really did try to concentrate, however.  After all, she wasn’t looking through the book just to enjoy pleasant memories of its previous history, but to find spells that would be helpful for the werefolk.</p><p>Minnie had asked around some, but so far, it seemed that not a single person had been willing to venture beyond the boundaries of the woods, not even some of those who were suffering the worst with the swamp fever.  It was a little maddening, but if they could be stubborn, so could Minnie.  If they wouldn’t go to the moonlight, she would bring the moonlight to them.  She’d long suspected there must be a good spell for that somewhere, and at last, Minnie believed she’d finally found it.</p><p>Or, almost.  Technically, it was a curse - a curse to <em> prevent </em> moonlight from reaching where you didn’t want it to reach.  But that was the thing about spells and curses.  In the hands of an experienced witch or warlock, you could twist things pretty satisfactorily to serve your own ends, if you had a deep connection to magic, a clear vision of what you wanted, and of course, a strong will.  Minnie had all those things; her reputation wasn’t just talk, and it wasn’t just a result of her being head of her coven and the whole forest.  It was quite the other way around.  So if anyone could turn a curse blotting out the moonlight into a boon to bring moonlight flooding in to someone who needed its healing glow, Minnie was just the witch to make it happen. It was all a matter of weaving the magic together properly - admittedly, a thing more easily said than done.</p><p>It also took concentration.  Minnie was doing precisely that, concentrating, when a soft sound made her look up.  The compact was reacting - a call was coming in.  Immediately, she whirled in her chair, closing the book and snatching up the compact, hurrying away from her cluttered workbench to flop into the chair at her vanity, smoothing her hair and brushing off her dress, as well as clearing her throat, before she flipped the compact open.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“...Minnie?”</p><p>“Oh, Mickey!  Is that you?” she queried, as if she hadn’t been hoping and anticipating it was.  “Why, what a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you.”</p><p>“I-is this a bad time?  I ken call ya back later if it is.”</p><p>“No, not at all.  What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Well…” she watched as he hesitated, which wasn’t like him.  He rubbed a hand over his face.  “...Nothin’, really, I just - that is … aw, I dunno.  I shouldn’t be botherin’ you with all this, it ain’t your problem, what am I doin’?”</p><p>“Mickey?”  Minnie lifted the mirror a little closer, wishing she could see him better.  “You’re not bothering me, I promise.  What’s the matter?”</p><p>He squirmed.  “...I … just wanted to talk to ya, I guess.  It really isn’t anything - an’ it’s my own fault more ‘n anybody’s….”</p><p>Minnie pursed her lips, then leaned forward and placed the compact on the vanity, before resting her chin in her hands before it.  “Well, then it certainly sounds like we <em> ought </em>to talk.  Now you just go right ahead and tell me all about it.”</p><p>He sighed, and the mirror’s image shifted a little as he dropped into a chair.  “Okaaayy….”</p><p>That was how it all started, really.  He did tell her all about it - about Donald and the frog - which was <em> not </em>her fault, he insisted repeatedly.  About how Donald was angry with him now and Daisy was angry with Donald and the townspeople were still angry at Mickey.  Minnie listened and then said a lot of things that Mickey already knew, but wanted to hear.</p><p>It helped, though.  And it made him feel better.  And then when he felt better, they started to talk about other things too - about Minnie’s book and Mickey’s library, about people in the town and the swamp fever breakout and how some of the vampires had found out about the tainted bloodberry supply and didn’t trust it now, even though Mickey’d eaten some of the berries in question himself to prove they were safe.  </p><p>That was a little depressing too.  But they talked about more than that, about frogs in general, under happier circumstances, about the time they’d almost overrun Minnie’s pantry and the time Mickey’d haunted a mortal who fancied herself a witch until she stopped trying to put curses on her neighbors down in the human village.  That made Minnie laugh until she almost cried, and Mickey almost forgot he’d been upset to begin with.</p><p>By the time they finally said goodnight, it was nearly morning, and they’d talked for close to two hours.  Even so, when Mickey fell into his coffin to sleep, he felt rejuvenated, abuzz with all the things he wanted to do the next night.  And more than anything else, he wanted to talk to Minnie again.</p><p>He rolled onto his side, eyes closed, but mind racing. </p><p> </p><p>The witch and the vampire were not the only two people willing to reach across the divide and share their troubles.  They both believed that, to be sure, and as tensions were continuing to mount, the thought of anyone embracing more diplomatic relations was becoming more and more of a distant dream.  But in fact, there <em> was </em> another pair who’d taken great pains to reach out to one another, to stay in close contact and to work together for their common goals.  In fact, they’d done so for quite some time by now.  It might’ve been inspiring to witness, if it wasn’t so sinister.</p><p>It was the coldest hour of the night, two or three uneasy nights later, after the moon had set, when the two dark figures made their way across the valley to meet in the deepest shadows outside the graveyard.  It wasn’t the first meeting, and although both of them would’ve been glad to see it be the last, neither one thought it would be.</p><p>From Evernight Forest, a hulking shape moved, dark against the cold sky, until it reached the meeting place and lingered there, waiting.  At last, the sound of footfalls on the grass became audible.</p><p>Pete squinted into the dark.  His eyes could make out the smallest movement in the darkest woods, but there was one type of creature who was invisible even to his sensitive gaze.  That’s why he didn’t trust them.</p><p>“Yer late,” he growled.</p><p>“I’m terribly sorry to have kept you waiting.”  Shyster emerged from the shadows, his usual unlikeable smile stretched across his thin face.</p><p>“I’ll just bet.  So, whaddya want?  Yer the one who said we had ta talk urgent-like.”</p><p>“So I did.  How are the Forest denizens taking the latest developments?”</p><p>Pete shrugged his shoulders, hands stuffed into his pockets, which strained to contain them.  “S’like I said.  Most folks think it’s a load a’ hooey.  I been remindin’ ‘em of it, too, how we don’t need ta take orders from nobody.  I don’t know of anybody who’s happy about it.”</p><p>“Good.  That’s good.  My people are, of course, furious about it, which is just as it should be.”</p><p>Pete squinted.  “Yeah, I’ll jus’ bet.  Nice bit of work of yours, too.”</p><p>“I’m not sure I like your tone.”</p><p>“My tone?  You oughter worry about yer boss’s tone lately.  What’s the big idea, anyhow?”  Pete pointed a meaty finger at the reedy vampire.  “You told me them tricks we played were sure to stir things up, an’ instead, th’ count’s actin’ all nicey-nice all of th’ sudden.  Why am I breakin’ my back here, blockin’ the road an’ spookin’ the kiddies with vampire stories if nobody’s gonna do nothin’ about it?”</p><p>Shyster looked displeased.  “I’ll confess things haven’t gone as I intended with regard to Count Mickey.  He’s been … erratic lately.  More than I anticipated.  But it really doesn’t change anything.  As you said yourself, even with his latest fool ideas, the forest folk want no part of his maneuverings.  It’s almost reassuring, seeing them shun his overtures so completely.”</p><p>“Sure, sure, but we <em> have </em> got a right to it.  Th’ graveyard, I mean.  Don’t make any mistake about that.”  Shyster lifted a brow.  Pete furrowed his.  “If we wanted to, if <em> I </em> wanted ‘em to, folks’ud be swarmin’ all up an’ down every inch of that graveyard.”</p><p>“Oh, well, of course!  That goes without saying.  But as we’ve discussed many times, the success of everything we’ve been working toward depends entirely upon our ability to maintain the proper atmosphere of distrust.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Pete dismissed him but Shyster carried right on.  He usually did, once you got him started.  He was a hard fellow to shut up.  Pete had noticed that.</p><p>“Our respective leaders have been too weak-willed, too hesitant.  For years they’ve danced around the real issues, refused to settle matters to any satisfactory extent.  These recent developments, all this nonsense about peace, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, not really.  It was absolutely inevitable, any fool could’ve seen the danger.  The Count would rather make friends than rule as a proper lord, and I begin to fear your Goodwitch is no better.  That’s why it all depends upon <em> us </em> now, my feral friend.  We have to be the ones to ensure that the proper balance is maintained between our respective nations.  And if that means taking steps to subvert the disastrous decisions of the witch - and the count, of course - then that’s what we must do.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Pete agreed, a little rudely.  “But I still think it’s pretty conven’yant, ain’t it, you comin’ along and insistin’ we shouldn’t come ‘round the graveyard because <em> you </em> say so.”</p><p>Shyster smiled again.  “My dear Pete, as I’ve explained, the issue isn’t the use of the graveyard itself.  The count has to understand that this freehanded disregard for our traditions simply won’t be tolerated by anyone.  I wish you could appreciate how hard I’ve worked to turn public opinion against him on Spire Mountain.  It’s a delicate process.  But it’s all for the best.  Once the townspeople have lost faith in him - and once you’ve convinced your little forest friends that the witch is too weak to do what must be done - the time will finally be ripe for us to act.</p><p>That made Pete smile too.  “Yeah.  We’ll finally have a real war, a good proper brawl.  An’ when it’s all through -”</p><p>“Then we’ll see things set to rights,” Shyster agreed.  “I will take command of Spire Mountain, and you -”</p><p>“I’ll take over Evernight Forest.  An’ Minnie - well, she ken stick around if she wants to,” his grin widened.  Even Shyster winced, but hid it smoothly.</p><p>“Just as you say. And when we are in control, we’ll never have to worry about these petty concerns again.  We’ll negotiate proper terms, appropriate treaties, we’ll run things the way they should be run.”</p><p>“I’ll say we will.”  Pete’s sharp teeth flashed in the darkness.  “We’ll get along just fine, won’t we?”</p><p>“Quite so, quite so.”  Shyster’s fangs returned the salute.  “And - ahem… to that end … I believe the time is right for the next stage of my plan.  I have an idea that I think will be rather effective, but as usual, it all depends on your strength and cunning, my friend.”</p><p>“I’m listenin.”  Pete leaned forward.</p><p>Half an hour later, as the two parted ways, Shyster turned back with one last admonishment.  “And Pete - remember!  Once things begin to move, they may move quickly.  I may not be able to reach you - but keep to the plan!  We’re very close to success.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah - don’t you worry about a thing.  Just leave it to old Petey.”  The werecat offered one more toothy grin, then turned and stomped back towards the forest.  Shyster watched him for a moment.</p><p>What a fool, he reflected with satisfaction.  To think that that gigantic slab of beef actually believed someone like he, Silvestri Shyster, of noble family, would stoop to conspire with such a creature.  Well, strictly speaking, he was conspiring with him, but there was a difference between an equal and a useful idiot.  Taking advantage of those was well within the heritage of his clan.  Besides, it really was working beautifully, even despite the ridiculous change in Count Mickey’s behavior over recent weeks.</p><p>That was still a mystery that Shyster found puzzling.  He had little trouble pinpointing the start of the mischief as the witch’s brazen appearance, but he still couldn’t figure what she had said or done which had made the count do such wild things.  Opening up the graveyard?  Shrugging off the garlic episode which Shyster had spent so much time carefully planning?  It was troubling.  But Shyster was flexible.  In the end, it was probably for the best.  It would help hurry things along, that was all.  If Mickey was going to prove himself totally unsuited as a leader without Shyster’s help, then all he had to do was step in and point it out to folks.  Done.  Within a month, Mickey would be deposed and Shyster would rule in his place.  And as for Pete and the rest of his yokels, well.  That would be the most satisfying part of all.  Let him believe he would be in charge, it didn’t matter to Shyster.  Maybe he really would be.  The point was that once Spire Mountain belonged to him, Shyster was going to make life so miserable for those wretches Down Back that it wouldn’t matter who called themselves the leader.  And Pete, that dope, was going to help bring it all about.  It was almost too delicious for words.</p><p>Shyster hurried toward home.</p><p>At the same time, Pete was making his way back down the forest path towards the village, mulling over Shyster’s new plan.  He didn’t much like the sound of it, but then he never had all along.  He couldn’t deny it was working, though; he’d helped it along, yes, but even without his help, he was hearing folks whispering about Minnie in a way they never had before.  Didn’t take much to nurture folks natural suspiciousness, if you took a little trouble over it.  Besides, even if things went sideways, Pete figured he could always mash Shyster’s face in later on.  In fact, he was planning on it.  Who did that miserable little creep think he was, anyway, always acting like he was the one in charge, when he was nothing but Count Mickey’s lackey?  Well, he’d get what was coming to him sooner or later.  It was handy to have someone up on Spire Mountain causing trouble that would’ve been tough for Pete to pull off on his own.  And if he wanted to get folks riled up at the count, that was good stuff, too.  Once folks got heated enough, they’d finally be ready to fight, and if those bucktoothed boneheads thought they’d have a potroast’s chance of winning with violence - ha!  They were about to learn some lesson.  Soon as the fighting started, Pete would take charge of the whole thing, and once people have seen you can snap any one of ‘em clean in half, they start taking orders a lot easier, whether they like it or not.  Pete would rule the whole forest, and the very first thing he’d do was see to it that the vampires were squashed down once and for all.  He could play palsy-walsy for now, that was fine - but he couldn’t wait to see the look on Shyster’s smug face just before he put his fist in it.  Heh!  He thought about that the rest of the way back to the village.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Tumbling Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Over the next few nights, as Minnie worked on her spells and tended to the usual business, she couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Mickey.  ConversationS, actually, because he’d called one more time, last night, and they’d talked for quite some time about not much at all.  So naturally, this would be on her mind, but Mickey was occupying her thoughts more and more all the time anyway.  That had always been true to some extent, but it was very different now.  She was troubled.  That wasn’t new either, but it was a novel development that, rather than being troubled </span>
  <em>
    <span>by</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mickey, she was worried on his behalf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was really on account of that Shyster person. That and the awful mistake that had gotten his friend so upset with him.  He’d sounded much more cheerful at the end of their last conversation, and had insisted over and over that it was just an accident nobody could’ve helped, but still.  Minnie wasn’t quite sure what she would do if Clarabelle or Horace wouldn’t speak to her, what with how tense everything had been lately.  Mickey’d never said it, but she suspected he blamed himself for that too, for upsetting the balance by bringing the graveyard back into people’s minds.  Minnie was starting to resent that stupid old place.  Better to forget it ever existed and be done with it, but folks just wouldn’t do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie sighed deeply into the pot she was stirring.  Maybe she should check on him, make sure everything was all right.  But she really had no excuse for doing so, no news to tell him about.  Nothing but the desire to talk to him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That...wasn’t too big of a problem, was it?  That she found Mickey pleasant and nice to talk to and ...comforting and handsome?  These were all objective truths, were they not?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Try as she might - and she did try - she couldn’t quite convince herself everyone would agree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was almost a relief when Minnie found herself needing to run some errands through the woods.  Got her out of the house and into the fresh air.  Everything felt a little happier in the light of the moon and the glow of fireflies.  Minnie walked down the forest path breathing in the scent of the swamp roses and moss, until a turn in the path revealed a little figure squatting in the road, drawing doodles with a stick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello, Rowdy.”  Minnie smiled brightly.  “It looks like you’re feeling much better!  I’m so glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh.”  Rowdy paused, then carefully pushed up her sleeve, and wiped her nose with her entire forearm.  “But... I’m still got a stuffy nose,” she explained.  “Mama says I’m not s’posta wipe it on my sleeve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie closed her eyes, trying to control her amusement.  “I see.  That’s good advice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think perhaps you’d like to try a hanky instead?  Here.”  Minnie produced one and held it out to the little girl, who studied it blankly a moment before taking it with another sniffle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie stood up straight again.  “Good!  Well, it just so happens that I was heading towards your house on my walk, Rowdy. Would you like to walk along with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Rowdy agreed again, and stuffed the hanky into her pocket, taking her stick along too.  She fell into step beside Minnie, reaching up instinctively to take her hand, which Minnie gave with a little warm feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you been taking your medicine like a good girl?” Minnie asked as they walked along, hands swinging together, as Rowdy poked at leaves and other twigs with her stick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” said Rowdy.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s wonderful. It’s chased the swamp fever right away, hasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nuh uh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie blinked.  “No?”  Rowdy shook her head.  “Why, what do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little girl shot a sidelong look up at Minnie, tiny fangs peeping out as she smiled.  “...Mama says it’s a’cuz of the moonlight.  But you can’t tell anybody because it’s a secret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moonlight…?”  Minnie stopped for a moment, absentmindedly scurrying to catch up as Rowdy kept tugging her hand at the same pace.  “...Rowdy, have you been out in the moonlight?  Out in the graveyard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rowdy only grinned wider, displaying more of her cute little sharp teeth.  Minnie didn’t press the matter further, but her mind raced.  Had Mrs. Brekabone taken Rowdy out to get some moonlight after all?  Obviously she hadn’t wanted everyone to know about it.  But if she was willing to take the chance, then maybe there were others.  Maybe it wasn’t so hopeless after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked together through the swamp until they reached the Brekabone household, where Minnie could see Mrs. Brekabone standing in the open doorway, sweeping dried moss and dust into the house.  A couple of her sons, all older than Rowdy, were running around in the trees making a nice racket.  Even so, Mrs. Brekabone looked up as they approached, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, Mistress Minnie!  Rowdy, what have I told you about wandering off out of sight?”  Rowdy grinned her same impish grin, releasing Minnie’s hand to run and bury her face in her mother’s dress.  Mrs. Brekabone tousled her ears fondly.  “... Pardon the noise, Mistress, but it’s always lovely to see you.  What can we do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, I think it’s lovely.  Every time I see the boys these days, I think they must be a little taller!”  She reached down to search through her bag.  “Actually, I stopped by to see how Rowdy was getting on - and I can see that for myself!  I’m so relieved.  Rowdy said -”  She hesitated, then set her eyes on Mrs. Brekabone’s face as she added, gently, “That is....I suppose the moonquatz tonic was what did the trick after all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Brekabone’s eyes widened, and she flushed beneath her fur, dropping her gaze.  “Er...well...y-yes, Mistress.  I suppose it must.”  Both women were silent a moment, before Mrs. Brekabone squared her shoulders and raised her head.  “...Folks are silly enough, but I guess most of us would do just about anything for our children, wouldn’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie nodded, smiling gently.  “Yes.  I think that’s true.  We all want the best for the ones we love most.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just so, Mistress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment more, Minnie cleared her throat.  “W-well, I wanted to give you this herb mixture - I thought it might help things along.”  She produced the packet from her bag and handed it over.  “...Although I guess it’s not really necessary!  Still, you know how little ones are.  Maybe it’ll be of use to you next time Rowdy catches cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you!  You’re always such a thoughtful thing.  And....”  Mrs. Brekabone took the packet, bringing it to her chest almost unconsciously.  “...I do hope things settle down.  There’s been a bad wind blowing for a while now, but sometimes these things clear.  I hope this one does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so too, Mrs. Brekabone.  You take care.  Goodbye, Rowdy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little girl had been slyly reaching up towards the packet her mother held, but drew her hand back and flashed her smile again.  “G’bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie waved over her shoulder once as she headed back down the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It was well after dark when the banging roused Mickey from a heavy sleep.  He didn’t usually lay about so late, but he’d had trouble dropping off lately.  He sort of hoped the sound would go away, but it returned a moment later even louder, and accompanied this time by muffled shouting.  Mickey groaned, but sat up and rolled onto the floor, rubbing his eyes before he reached to pull on his boots.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Better not be about scarin’ cats,” he muttered, trudging down the stairs to the front door.  He paused for just a second, glancing down as he recalled he was still wearing his rumpled shirt and pants from the night before.  Well, so what.  If you were gonna come around making a racket this early in the evening, you’d take what you got.  He opened the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmyeah?  Can I help y-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey!”  It was Calliver, his pale face more ashen than ever and smeared with what appeared to be soot, or dirt, chest heaving with exertion.  Mickey’s sleepiness drained away at once.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cal - what is it, what’s th’ matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the mine!  Somebody - an explosion - it’s terrible, Count, there’s people trapped inside!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!”  Mickey pushed past him to get out the door.  Calliver followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ran all the way - the whole place is still shaking, the tunnels - we’re digging as fast as we can, but the rocks - Count!”  Calliver caught his sleeve and wrenched it in shaking hands until Mickey stopped and faced him.  “It was one of them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw him, Count, I</span>
  <em>
    <span> saw </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.  One of those Down Back brutes!  Big, big beast!  Took off running when I yelled but it was too late - then - BOOM!”  His voice was almost a shriek now.  “This is what they do, what they’ll always do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey stared a moment, as a sick feeling pooled in his belly.  But his voice was measured as he took Calliver firmly by the shoulders.  “...It don’t matter who did it.  Hey, lookit.  We’ve gotta help everyone NOW.  We ken worry about the rest afterwards.  Now let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed that half the town had assembled by the time Mickey reached the moonquartz mine.  Mickey had to push and shove his way through the panicked crowd to reach the entrance, where several of the town’s strongest ghouls were already straining to remove rocks and debris.  As Mickey approached, an ominous rumble made the ground shudder beneath his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry!  The whole thing could go any second!  We gotta get ‘em out!” roared a hoarse voice from nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Donald!”  Mickey elbowed someone aside to reach his friend.  Donald met his eyes a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you,” he said, almost quietly.  Mickey winced, jaw tightening as he absorbed that sting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s still inside?” was all he said.  Donald looked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They say there’s half a dozen miners stuck in the passageway.  The whole place is still shaking.  If we can’t get ‘em out soon, they might be trapped by another rockside. If they’re not smashed into jelly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!”  A vampire nearby, overhearing this gruesome prediction, wobbled violently and had to be supported by a couple other bystanders.  Mickey bared his fangs with a growl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody who ain’t workin’, get the heck back from here! It’s dangerous an’ we don’t need anybody else hurt.  Get BACK!”  He began rolling his sleeves up, looking over the rockpile, trying to figure out where to start.  “Ah ah AH!  Get away from there,” he barked at a barrel-shaped villager who was about to give one of the boulders a good shove.  “If you push that loose, that whole side’ll come right down, see?  Now look, you fellas get around this side, an’ YOU there, you start shiftin’ them smaller pieces from over here.  We gotta open up a path big enough t’crawl through, not move th’earth.  Now this rock here, this is gonna be the problem.”  Mickey clambered up the pile as the other townsfolk scrambled to follow his directions - even Donald, although his face was still fixed in a scowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello!  Hello!  Can anybody hear me?”  Mickey pressed his ear to the rocks.  “Shuddup back there, I’m tryna listen!  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple heart-pounding moments, Mickey could hear it - muffled voices from the other side of the rocks.  He smiled tightly.  “Yeah, I ken hear ya.  Don’t worry, we’re comin’!  We’re gonna getcha outta there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey pushed back and returned to the biggest immediate problem - the large boulder wedged tight against the side of the entrance to the mine.  Left where it was, it’d be impossible to clear the entry, but if they moved too much else around it, the boulder might shift, wedging the entrance hopelessly shut.  It had to come loose, that was all there was to it.  Mickey bent and set his cheek against the rock, working his arms around it to get a feel for its size.  Oof, it was big.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Donald who realized first what he was up to.  “...Hey, are you crazy? If that thing falls it’s gonna crush you like a bloodberry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it don’t fall, we’re wastin’ our time here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t move that on your own!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There ain’t room up here for anybody else.  Now get outta th’way!”  Donald offered a protesting squawk, but Mickey wasn’t listening.  He gritted his teeth and dug his fingertips into the rock and pulled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Absolutely nothing happened, which was to be expected.  Mickey took in a slow breath and then let it out again as he strained at the rock.  The other townsfolk working around him quieted as they realized what he was attempting.  It was sobering, watching the Count - one of the smallest vampires in the village, everybody was thinking it even if not a soul would say so out loud - trying to shift that enormous rock.  Felt… pathetic.  Obscene, almost.  He must’ve lost his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey laid his cheek against the rock, felt it scratch his skin as he strained.  He didn’t care.  Those were his friends trapped inside there, his people, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> responsibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And...what if it really was his fault?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost lost his balance as another shudder ran through the rock, drawing cries of alarm from the miners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count, get away from there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last voice was Donald’s, a strained note in it.  Mickey closed his eyes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”  He heaved again, braced his legs against the stone, breath hissing from between his teeth.  Nothing. Nothing.  And then….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look out - it’s giving way!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey gave one last hoarse cry, and then the rubble beneath his feet fell away as the boulder tipped free.  At the same moment, a sharp pain tore through his shoulder.  He heard Donald yell as he threw himself back.  The boulder cleared him, but only just, and the rough stone caught his arm on the way past, scraping his skin.  He curled up into a ball as stones and debris showered down from the pile.  As the dust cleared, someone shouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There they are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey lifted his head.  It was true, thank wickedness.  He could see hands waving and grime-covered faces from the dark.  His shoulder felt like it was on fire, but he righted himself again and cradled it close to his waist, reaching out with his other hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, nobody panic - we’ll getcha outta there now - that’s right - one at a time, now…everybody accounted for?  Anybody missin’ inside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t.  Six miners altogether, everyone present, nobody badly hurt.  Mickey stood by until everyone was out, then slid down the rockpile behind them, shaking dust and grit from his ears, still keeping his aching arm tucked close.  It was nothing too serious, he was sure, but it’d be a few nights before he could do much with it, he was sure of that.  Best check on that scrape too - it stung, and he could feel some blood seeping through his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd began to shift back towards the village, everyone fussing over the miners and over it all, Mickey could hear Calliver telling everyone else what he’d told Mickey - about the mysterious saboteur from Down Back who’d caused all this mess.  Mickey looked back at the mine.  Who knew how badly it was damaged, or whether it would ever be safe to use this entrance again?  It could set back their production of moonquartz by months, totally disrupt trade.  But there would be more immediate problems too.  He wasn’t stupid.  As soon as the shock wore off, the anger would set in.  How could he blame anybody?  But Minnie… she couldn’t have had anything to do with this.  It was out of the question. Let alone the swamp fever and everything else, she would never do something like this, never.  But how was he ever going to fix this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up, so deep in these troubling thoughts that he scarcely noticed he was getting left behind, half forgotten in the excitement.  He could see Donald following the group back to town, and for a moment, their eyes met again.  Donald looked troubled - maybe even worried.  But he didn’t return.  After a long moment, he turned and followed the group back towards town, and Mickey trudged back towards the castle alone.  He needed to talk to Minnie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At about that same moment, Minnie was headed back towards home.  Unlike Mickey, she’d started the night early, so her errands were all run by now, and she was feeling pretty optimistic about things.  Maybe she would even call Mickey up when she got back to the house, tell him about Mrs. Brekabone and Rowdy.  It only took one person to get things started, right?  Others might follow, if they had a little time and encouragement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie!  Minnie!””  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Horace’s voice.  Minnie turned, her smile fading as she caught sight of him running toward her down the forest path as fast as his long legs would carry him.  “...Why Horace, what’s the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew up before her, removing his hat to brush the back of his hand over his damp forehead.  “...I’ve been tryin’ to find ya all evening.  You weren’t at your house or any place!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’ve been running errands.  Horace, what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horace looked grim.  “It’s the bloodberries, miss.  You’d better come and see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s lips parted, but she was too afraid to ask.  So she nodded instead, and hurried to follow Horace in the direction of the berry patches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew, of course.  She knew before they ever arrived what she was going to see, but it still made her feel like crying as Horace led her to what had been - at least up until last night - the finest bloodberry patch in the forest.  Goofy was waiting when they arrived, but he was so miserable he could scarcely look at Minnie at all, just kept shaking his head.  Part of her wished Clarabelle was there, but part of her was glad she was not, because Clarabelle could not have been silent, and Minnie found herself unable to say a word.  She walked among the rows of bushes, once lush and green and rich with red fruit, now smashed and broken, leaves already starting to turn brown and wither, curling in on themselves. The red berry juice stained the hem of her dress, red as blood, true to their name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did it happen?” she asked at last.  Horace had been following behind her at a respectable distance and he moved a step closer.  It felt like an occasion for hushed voices.  Mourning.  Something like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Musta been sometime last afternoon.  When Goofy came ‘round to check on things a little bit after sundown- well.  Found it all like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goofy spoke at last, twisting his own hat in his hands, his voice an anguished moan.  “Aw, gosh - I blame myself.  It’s all my fault, y’know.  If I’d come by ta do my froggin’ sooner on in th’ evenin’, I woulda caught the guy red-handed - before he got red-handed, I mean.  I woulda fought him off myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fought him off?  Who are you talking about, Goofy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goofy made another unhappy noise but Horace jutted his chin out.  “G’wan, Goof.  Tell her whatcha saw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I couldn’t swear to it, but right when I was comin’ up on the patch, I heard a sort of rustlin’ sound.  Y’know - flappin’.” He made an illustrative gesture with his hands, but the action gave him little pleasure as his arms flopped to his sides again a moment later.  “An’ as I came around the bend, I saw somethin’ go shootin’ off into the trees - that way.  Now it coulda been a - oh, anything.  Hoot owl, or somethin’, but… it looked an awful lot like a bat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bat.  Like...like a black bat, Goofy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goofy’s frown deepened, but he nodded.  Minnie closed her eyes.  A moment later, she opened them again.  “I know it wasn’t Count Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horace lifted a brow at this comment and Minnie shut her mouth, feeling hot and uncomfortable.  “...Nobody said it was, miss,” he said at last, carefully.  “But no matter who it was, somebody’s caused us an awful lot of grief here.  And if it was a vampire - any vampire - well, somethin’s gonna have to answer for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.  I know that.” Minnie turned away from the pair of them, wringing her hands.  “...Horace?  Has the village been alerted about the damage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet, miss.  I came lookin’ for you straightaway.  But they’ll find out soon enough whether I tell ‘em or not.  An’ they’ll be hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”  Minnie inhaled, let it out again.  Her hands were trembling, but she clasped them together so it wouldn’t show as much.  She faced them both with her shoulders back, head held high.  “... This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> your fault, Goofy, or anybody else’s but mine.  The bloodberries are </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> responsibility first and foremost.  The foresters should hear about it from me first.  Call a town meeting, Horace - but give me an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, but what are you going to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie picked up her skirts and began retracing her steps back through the ruined patch.  “I need to talk to the Count.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. What's To Be Done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mickey wouldn’t have answered the second Minnie opened the compact unless something was wrong.  It was a little ironic, when she reflected on that, on how relieved she’d been when his face instantly appeared.  She should’ve been filled with the appropriate sense of dread.  They both started talking at once, of course, and it took several seconds before either of them heard a word the other was saying.  When Mickey paused to take a breath, Minnie filled the silence with a wail, and things proceeded as follows:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Mickey, it’s just awful - I don’t know what to do!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know.  But how’d you already know about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I just came from there!  Goofy discovered it and told Horace who told </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the heck was Goofy doin’ at our moonquartz mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moonquartz mine?  Nothing!  I’m talking about the bloodberry patch, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bloodberry patch?  No, no, no, I’m talking about the cave-in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What cave-in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was at this point, and this point only, that any actual progress began to be made.  It was of a grim type, however, and by the end of another five minutes, instead of feeling any better, both participants felt a good deal worse instead.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...A’course, I don’t KNOW that it was really somebody from Down Back, but -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Minnie finished for him, twisting a lock of her hair into knots.  She was thinking of Pete, of course.  That was bad enough, certainly, yet - “...And there’s more, too, Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whaddya mean?” he returned, with a once-bitten kind of cautiousness.  Minnie sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Goofy said - he didn’t actually see anything, mind you - but he told me he heard someone leaving when he got to the bloodberry patch.  It sounded like bat wings to him.”  Minnie shook her head miserably.  “Of course, he could’ve been mistaken, but Goofy would never lie about something like that.  If that’s what he thinks he heard, then he heard it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It don’t look good, I’ll give ya that,” Mickey murmured.  His brow furrowed.  “Wait a second.  Did you say it all happened before sundown?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not quite sure.  Goofy said he got to the patch a little after sunset and it was destroyed.  It was fine the last time anybody saw it last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey looked baffled.  “Then it couldn’t have been a vampire.  At least, it’d be awful tricky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, ‘cuz of the sun, of course.  Th’ whole valley’s out in the open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course!  No vampire could possibly cross the valley in daylight.  If it happened at sunset, they’d never make it back, and if it happened at sundown, they wouldn’t have had time to get there.  Mickey, you’re a genius!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh heh.”  His pleasure faded quickly.  “I mean… unless somebody flew over and waited around all night or somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who would do a thing like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, nobody. I hope.  But it’s happened before, folks gettin’ stranded somewhere an’ taking shelter until nightfall.”  He took in a breath.  “It’s an awful lot less likely, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose.  But what about the mine?  What if - oh, Mickey, I’d never forgive myself if somebody was hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that.  I know you’d never do anything like that, not in a million years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I know you’d never have our bloodberries torn up.  But how am I ever going to convince everybody else?”  She tugged at her hair again.  “...I’ve called a town meeting right after this.  I don’t know what I’m going to say. I’ll have to tell them all the truth, or they’ll just hear it from somebody else and that’ll be even worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you an’ me both.  This is pretty serious.  S’just what we didn’t need, an excuse for folks to get all worked up.”  He let his head fall to one side with a tired sigh, closing his eyes a moment.  Minnie squinted at his tiny image.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey - what’s that on your cheek?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ch - ah, it’s nothin’!  Ow!”  His hand flew to his cheek and he stood up straight, then immediately winced.  Minnie’s eyes got wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey, are you all right?  Are you hurt?  You said nobody was hurt!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I ain’t hurt.  Don’t worry about me.”  He adjusted the compact until it centered on his face and gave her a reassuring smile.  “...I’m fine.  Jus’ a little scrape right there.  See?  Cat scratch is all.  It’ll be gone by t’morrow night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-well… if you say so.”  Minnie sighed again.  “...I suppose I should go.  I don’t want to keep everyone waiting.  They’ll start to talk and get all upset and - oh, I don’t know what I’m going to say to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reckon I’m gonna have a few conspiracy theories of my own to handle by the end of the night.  But I’ll handle ‘em.  I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to smile for his sake, but it was difficult.  “Mickey… I… I can’t be sure it wasn’t someone from the forest who did this.  I wish I could, but - ...well, if it was, I - I won’t let it stand, I -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Min.”  His voice was soft.  It sent a little stab of longing through her.  Min.  He’d never called her that before.  “Yer not like that.  I know.  I won’t let ‘em say y’are, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drew the compact a little nearer.  “Neither will I.  Mickey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie swallowed hard.  She didn’t know exactly what she’d been about to say, but the sentiment it carried was too dangerous.  It had risen into her throat, but she forced it back down into her chest.  “...Be careful.  All right?  I have a bad feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey looked, for a moment, like there was something he wanted to say, too.  Something different than what he actually said, which was, “...Course I will.  Careful’s my middle name!  Well - one of ‘em, heh!  I’ll talk to ya when I can, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat for a long moment after they said goodbye, pressing the closed compact to her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Minnie got to the village hall, it was already packed so tight that Horace had to help carve a path for her to get up to the front.  The atmosphere was not good.  Horace shook his head grimly as he helped Minnie up onto the steps.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t said a word but I couldn’t keep folks from stumblin’ on the patches themselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all right, Horace.  Is Clarabelle here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, someplace.  Ol’ girl’s beside herself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t say as I blame her.  Well...let’s get this over with.”  Minnie hefted her skirts and climbed up to the platform to address the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody - excuse me - everyone, please listen - hey - quiet, please!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sharp whistle pierced the noise, and the villagers fell silent.  Minnie lowered her hands and cleared her throat, blushing faintly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Thank you.  Now, then.  I’m sure by now most of you have heard about the terrible destruction of the bloodberry crop that took place sometime this evening or last afternoon.  It’s been a terrible shock and I know everyone is angry and upset.  I promise you I won’t rest until we’ve discovered who’s responsible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s responsible?!”  A goblin in the second row blinked incredulously.  “We all </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> who’s responsible!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right!”  The crowd burst into a beehive of angry buzzing.  Minnie lifted her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, everyone, please!”  She waited a moment for things to settle.  “...I understand most of you have your suspicions and I can’t rule out the possibility that someone from Up There was involved.”  Another ripple of anger rolled through the assembly.  Minnie raised her voice.  “HOWEVER, I’ve already spoken to Count Mickey and received his absolute assurance that he had nothing to do with the vandalism and is just as angry and surprised as we are.  As soon as we find the culprits, if they do have anything to do with Spire Mountain -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If?!”  The Wereboar seated in the front row gave a furious snort.  “Ya don’t mean to suggest we can trust a word that bloodsucker says?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie gulped.  “...That’s exactly what I mean, Mr. Snorf.”  He snorted again, sputtering as Minnie’s words sent up a general hiss and growl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well - that’s - does he think we’re all a bunch of suck -”  He caught the eye of Goody Sapsucker, seated to his left, and spluttered, “- a bunch of gullible fools?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all!  Count Mickey’s been very forthcoming.  No, really, he has!”  Minnie shot a desperate look around the assembly as it bubbled with dissent, trying to settle on a friendly face, but there wasn’t one.  She glanced back over her shoulder. Clarabelle had emerged from the back, but looked away as Minnie’s eyes settled on her.  Goofy lowered his gaze as well.  Minnie wrung her hands.  “Oh, please - if you could all just listen to me -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been listening for a long while now, but all I’m hearing is a whole lot of nothing!”  The goblin in the second row snapped off his hat and shook it.  “Now what I want to know is, what do you mean to do about all of this?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an excellent question, Mr. Tusctooth.  First, we’ll need volunteers to begin cleaning up the debris, and then after that -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not the durned cleanup!  I mean what are you going to do about that miserable two-faced Count Mickey and his goons!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A burst of angry chatter rose up around the room.  Minnie waved her arms again.  “Everyone, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“QUIET!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice cut through the commotion like a shot.  All eyes turned towards the back corner, where Pete’s huge frame shifted into the dim light.  He shot a glare around the group.  “...Alla this gripin’ and grousin’ like a bunch of little baby kittens won’t get us anywhere.  We gotta look at this real calm and cool-like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie blinked.  Was this … reasonable, sound advice?  From Pete?  She was confused for a moment - but only a moment.  Pete wasn’t finished.  She watched as he hefted his belt up an inch or two, then continued.  “Fact of the matter is, we got nobody to blame but ourselves.  We oughter’ve made our point real clear from th’beginning, but we’ve been too busy playin’ tootsie games with th’ Count an’ tha rest of them skeeter-eaters.  Tradin’ ‘em all our bloodberries just so’s they can come in an’ wreck everythin’ we’ve been workin’ and slavin’ over, an’ for what?  Just so’s he can turn around and tell us we ain’t got nothin’ to trade with him for?  An’ all the time, yer little kids are goin’ without their moonquartz they deserves, just on account of his dupliciousity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true!” Minnie burst out.  “Count Mickey’s got troubles of his own!  In fact, just this evening -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, bother Count Mickey’s problems!”  Minnie turned, startled.  Clarabelle stood behind her, fists clenched.  She looked away again, unable to meet Minnie’s eyes as her voice dropped to a mumble.  “We’ve got plenty of our own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose side are you on, anyway?” snapped Mr. Snorf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whose side are you on?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Folks!” Pete’s voice cut through again.  “I say we make it darn clear to Count Mickey that he can’t get away with somethin’ like this.  We ain’t gonna stand for it, an’ if he thinks he can boss us around, he’s in fer a big surprise.  I say we show ‘im what happens when you mess with us!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A roar of approval burst up from the assembly.  Minnie shot a look at Clarabelle that could’ve curdled milk, her eyes bright with frustrated tears.  But there wasn’t time to feel betrayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll do absolutely nothing of the kind,” she snapped, and stuck her fingers in her mouth to shoot another piercing whistle over the room.  As folks covered their ears in pain, she clenched her little fists until they trembled.  “...I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have violence and I will not have foolishness.  Goody Clarabelle has just kindly reminded us that we have problems enough already.  Now if there are those among you who believe revenge is more important than the wellbeing of this village and the beasts who live here, you’d do well to think long and hard about just how much fruit grows from that kind of seed and how well it will feed you.”  She inhaled sharply, tried to steady the shaking in her voice.  “I will investigate this crime personally and those responsible </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> be punished.  Until then, I expect everyone to carry on as normal.  Is that clearly understood?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if it’s not?” challenged Mr. Tusctooth.  Minnie’s eyes narrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chill seemed to descend over the room.  There was no breeze in the stuffy hall, but a force from somewhere picked up a few of Minnie’s curls and they danced around her.  A few folks shifted uncomfortably in their seats.  There was a staticy feeling in the air, made your hair stand up, like there was a storm heavy overhead, although the night sky outside was clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Minnie was a witch.  Not just any witch - the witch.  A couple hearts began to beat faster, thoughts turning suddenly and unbidden to just what it might be like to live life as a toad or a spider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie spoke slowly, very softly, but it was quite easy to hear her, even in the back of the room.  Somehow.  “I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have foolishness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody answered.  One by one, the assembly dissolved back into the night, slinking out and away from the weight of the witch’s dark eyes.  Pete must’ve been among the first.  By the time Minnie thought to look for him, he was already gone.  When she finally turned around, shoulders slumped, Clarabelle, Goofy and Horace had vanished too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie walked back towards the house all alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back on Spire Mountain, up in his bedchamber, Mickey sat down on the side of his coffin and let out a tired breath.  By the time he’d finished cleaning up and changing out of his torn, dirty clothes, he was just about ready to crawl right back into bed.  But the night was still unfortunately young, and by now, he reckoned the whole town was buzzing with the evening’s events.  He had to get out there and deal with it - if he could just get his jacket on.  The shirt had been bad enough, as had trying to button it up without moving his left arm too much.  But when it came to the jacket, every time he tried to straighten his left arm behind his back to push it through the sleeve, a stab of pain stopped him short.  Something torn or pulled pretty good, and no mistake.  So he twisted himself into a number of shapes trying to accomplish the thing, until he was interrupted for the second time that night by knocking on his front door.  He ignored it for a while, but it grew louder, until at last he heard the door open and voices calling his name.  “Aw heck,” he murmured.  The jacket would just have to wait.  He tossed it back over the chair and turned to make his way back downstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he reached the great hall, it was already murmuring with a crowd. It looked like half the town was there, maybe more.  Mickey paused on the second to last step and surveyed the group.  “...Won’tcha come right in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey!  We want to know what you’re going to do about that beastly witch and her murderous flunkies!”  Miz Cluck’s chest was puffed out into a frazzled mass of brown feathers.  Wasting no time at all, as usual, Mickey noted.  As his gaze traveled over the group, he caught sight of Donald right up near the front.  Shyster was there too, drifting off to one side.  Mickey frowned a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s a good question, Miz Cluck, but I don’t see as it has much to do with our real problem, which is figuring out how we’re gonna clear up the damage to the mine an’ whether it’s too dangerous to use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who cares?  I almost died in there!  A-an’ where were you?!” burst out one of the vampires - Mickey recognized him right away, since he’d pulled the fellow to safety with his own hands.  Seemed an awkward time to mention it, though.  “Now I wanna know who’s gonna pay for it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a fair question an’ I mean to get a square answer.  But to do that, we’ll have to figure out who’s responsible an’ why.  Now we’ve got a witness who described th’ suspect to me, so that’s where I’m gonna start. I’ve already spoken - excuse me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The townsfolk were murmuring.  Mickey frowned at them.  “...As I was sayin’, I’ve already spoken to the witch an’ she’s gonna do everything she can t’help us track down the culprit - if he or she has any connection to Evernight Forest, that is.  An’ in the meantime, well, we best do what we can to get the mine operational.  Those who are willin’, that is.  I won’t make anybody go inside or near the mine who doesn’t feel safe there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an uneasy pause, and then a female voice spoke up from somewhere near the back of the group.  Mickey avoided glancing anywhere near Donald’s direction when he realized it was Daisy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Count Mickey, with all due respect … you’re joking, right?  I mean… we all know it must’ve been someone acting on the witch’s instructions.  Who else could possibly want to do something like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t got a clue.  But neither have any of you, so that’s why we’ve got to keep a level head about all this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group didn’t like that suggestion, not one little bit.  It felt like half the crowd started to speak at once, with various objections.  Mickey backed up a step or two to try and get above the noise - literally and figuratively.  “Look, I know you’re all upset, an’ you’ve got good reason!  But let’s think about this, huh?  The witch is the last person who’d wanna disrupt our moonquartz operations.  Especially now - I happen t’know the folks Down Back had some troubles of their own t’night, an’ -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what?  Who cares?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s not our fault they’re a bunch of wild animals who can’t behave like civilized people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She could’ve killed somebody!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey rubbed his temple.  “Now look here!  I don’t wanna hear that kind of talk from anybody.  Minnie wouldn’t ever do somethin’ like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How would you know?”  It was Donald’s voice, unmistakable and unmistakably irritated.  Mickey winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s how.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you two have been real buddy-buddy lately, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let him get your hackles up, Mick, not now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mickey thought.  “What’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> supposed t’mean, huh?!” Mickey said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> what -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’ll excuse the interruption, Your Grace.”  It was Shyster who interrupted this time.  “Forgive me for saying so, but I did try to warn you that the witch’s provocations were becoming seriously more drastic.  I’m sure our friend Mr. Duck is merely trying to warn you that your doubtlessly noble intentions may be doomed to failure - and it does unfortunately appear that your course of action may be putting the town at risk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster.  Mickey stared at him coldly.  He had always known that he disliked the man, but at that moment, it crystalized into something sharper.  He was a sneak, and quite possibly a liar.  “What escalation?  You know as well as I do -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh for darkness’ sake!  What are you going to do about this, Count Mickey?!”  Daisy stomped her foot.  “Are you going to make the witch pay for this or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna make anybody pay until I’m darn good an’ sure they’re the one who owes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then maybe we should pay the witch a little visit ourselves!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, maybe we should teach her a lesson or two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>YA WON’T DARE</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room went quiet.  Maybe it was something about Mickey’s voice, or the strange look in his eyes.  At least one or two vampires who’d never given much thought to Mickey’s rank before suddenly felt the full weight of it.  There was something dangerous about him, something you wouldn’t want to cross.  It was a quality that made one feel very comfortable when it was directed at someone or something undesirable.  To have it now strike the whole room was distinctly less enjoyable.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey went to put his hands on his hips and regretted it instantly.  He folded them across his chest instead and tried not to let it show how badly his shoulder throbbed.  The silence carved by his words lingered for a long moment anyway, as his gaze traveled over the assembly, before he spoke again, in something closer to his usual tone, now strained with a tinge of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I absolutely forbid it.  No one is to raise a hand towards </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> from Evernight Forest.”  Another silence passed, and then Mickey straightened up the best he could.  “...Now. I suggest everybody go home, calm down, get some rest.  We’ll get it all sorted out in good time.  Butcha gotta … ya gotta trust me.  I’d never do anythin’ to putcha at risk.  That’s why I can’t letcha go off mad an’ stir up hell knows what until we know what in all evil’s goin’ on.  Now go home.  Please.”  He lowered his eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him.  “...G’wan home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the group started to shuffle unhappily towards the door, but Miz Cluck was puffed up more than ever.  “Now - s-see here, Count Mickey -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached out to snatch him by the shoulder, but someone caught her by the wrist just in time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, let him alone,” Donald huffed.  Miz Cluck made an offended noise, but snatched her hand away and marched away.  Mickey looked back over his shoulder, and for just a moment, he and Donald looked at each other.  Donald’s eyes dropped to the arm Mickey was cradling against his chest and back up to his face again, but he turned away again after a moment and followed the rest of the group outside.  Mickey swallowed hard and began trudging up the steps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Apologies, Your Grace.”  Shyster appeared at his elbow, and Mickey jumped.  “You must excuse the intrusion.  I did try to encourage everyone to wait outside, but … well, as you saw, everyone’s extremely distressed about this calamity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t say I blame ‘em.  No thanks t’you, though.  What’s the big idea, sayin’ alla that rot about ‘the witch’s provocations’?” Mickey snapped.  “You know as well as I do that whole garlic business wasn’t th’witch’s fault, an’ lately we’ve been -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster’s brow quirked.  “...My Lord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey pressed his lips together.  “...Lately we’ve been enjoyin’ perfectly stable relations, that’s what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it would seem.  But - forgive me - perhaps that ought to make Your Grace a little more suspicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you sayin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, simply that it could be a ruse.  An attempt to convince us that there’s no need to be on our guard before…” he trailed off, shrugging.  Mickey wasn’t about to let that go.  If you were gonna say it, say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before what?” he demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster settled his cold gaze on the count’s face.  “...Before you find yourself in a world of hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey met the Baron’s eyes steadily.  “...Now I come to think of it,” he murmured after a moment’s pause, “I can’t recall enjoyin’ your company like usual last night, Shyster.  An’ I don’t remember seein’ you at the mine this evenin’ during the commotion either.  Where’ve you been hiding yerself, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster smiled steadily.  “Why, nowhere at all, Your Grace.  Attending to necessary duties, as always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh.  An’ yesterday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yesterday?  I slept remarkably well.  Yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jus’ nicely, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. I’m delighted to hear it.”  Shyster backed down the staircase a couple steps.  “I always sleep soundly these days.  But then, I suppose that’s because I don’t bear the weight of responsibility you must experience.  I do hope you sleep as well this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sure I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night, My Lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey watched until he heard the front door close behind the Baron, then he closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the banister.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Donald's Best Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Well, doc?”  Mickey buttoned his shirt back up as well as he could with one hand.  He was getting sort of good at it, but the knowledge didn’t make him feel any better.  His shoulder should’ve been healed up by now; most injuries hardly lasted a day or two, as fast as Mickey healed.  But his shoulder still hurt so bad when he got in his coffin that he could barely sleep, and even the cuts and scrapes he’d gotten still lingered.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor von Drake was not really a doctor - the title was more honorific than anything - as he was actually a scientist.  Specialist in biology, actually.  But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> awfully educated, and anyhow, the town’s actual doctor, Doctor Stabb, had an assistant who was a terrible blabbermouth.  Mickey didn’t need half the town knowing that he wasn’t at his best, especially not now when half of them seemed to think he was incompetant already.  Bad enough to be considered feebleminded without being infirm as well.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The professor replaced his spectacles on his beak and shook his head.  “Very curious.  No broken bones, no infections, but a considerable delay of the healing processes.  De slo-mo boo-boos, so to speak.  Hmmm….”  He got up from the stool he’d occupied, shrugging his shoulders.  “If I didn’t know any better I’d think it was some sorta vitaminescient deficiency.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A vita...a what now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor diet, my boy!”  The professor looked at Mickey over the top of his glasses.  “...Have you been getting enough bloodberries to eat lately, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey squirmed.  When things started to get pinched, he’d gotten an earful from half the town.  There was old Fangsley, for one - keeper of the town’s public house.  Then there was Mrs. Tuthrott who owned the bakeshop, not to mention various private citizens.  The long and short of it was that he’d given all the bloodberry jam, all the cordial, all the fresh berries he personally had on hand over to one person or another to ease the shortage.  It wasn’t much, but it had helped - temporarily.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er...well, who has?  What with the supply chain bein’ how it is….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Von Drake rubbed his chin.  “Well, for someone in your state of injury, dis is no joke.  Bloodberries are ze top major source of nutrients in a vampire’s diet.  Not enough of that good stuff can cause all sorta symptoms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohh, headache, dizziness, the tingly fingers an’ toes, sleepiness, chilly cold sweats AND faintin spells.  But it can also slow down your natural quick vampire healing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Mickey muttered.  “So - I’ll still heal up sooner or later, tho, won’t I, doc? I mean, my arm’ll be okay an’ everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see why not - so long as you take it nice and easy.  But if I were you, I’d get myself some nice fat bloodberries an’ chow ‘em down.”  Von Drake licked his bill.  Mickey bit back a heavy sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks professor.  Listen - don’t mention this to anyone, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mention it?  Certainly not.  Strictest confidence.”  The old bird crossed his heart.  “...And by the way, if you see that nephew of mine, tell him to stop by once in a while and give me a hand around here!  If you think it’s easy trying to conduct any kind of botanical researches on top of a windswept mountain, HA, let me tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey smiled faintly.  “Yeah.  I will, professor.  If I see him.  G’bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye-bye, my boy!  Er, Count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a little pathetic, but Mickey couldn’t help taking a quick glance around before he slipped out of the professor’s back door.  He had every right to be there, of course, but he didn’t much feel like answering questions.  And honestly, he didn’t much feel like talking to anyone at all, just then.  Things had been… pretty rough since the incident.  Even if he’d been feeling his best, things were pretty tense at the moment.  As it was … </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey squinted, trying to remember the last time he’d had any bloodberry cordial or anything.  Heck, it must’ve been before his visit to see Minnie. No wonder he was feeling so droopy.  It couldn’t be helped, though.  Minnie had her own problems and he wasn’t going to trouble her with something so minor.  She’d looked pale and tired too, every time they’d stolen a moment to talk.  There’d been one or two official conversations too, communications through their old mirrors like they used to do it.  Shyster’d been there, of course, so they couldn’t really talk as candidly as he would’ve liked.  There wasn’t much to be done, though.  Until mining could resume - if it could resume - there would be no moonquartz to exchange for bloodberries.  But this was of little matter because with the bushes torn to pieces, there were no ripe berries to pick.  Minnie thought they could propagate a new crop in a few months, but that didn’t do anybody any good in the meantime.  Besides, Minnie had confided privately that quite a few of the forest-dwellers were bristling at the idea of breaking their backs getting bloodberry production back up to speed with no guarantee of moonquartz to follow, particularly when the blame for their destruction had been placed squarely on Count Mickey to start with.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey trudged towards home.  He was so deep in thought over the whole situation, that he didn’t notice the little group of townsfolk huddled together outside the bakeshop until he almost walked right into them.  Coming to his senses at the last moment, he threw himself into the shadows behind a stack of crates.  As he contemplated what to do, he could hear snippets of their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Would have imagined it would come to this.  Practically prisoners in our own village.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never would’ve seen this in the days of Count Rattaslov.  He understood how to keep the rabble in check.  I shudder to think how our ancestors would feel seeing what’s become of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And to think I used to put such faith in Count Mickey.  I’m ashamed to think of how we all praised him to the skies, and this is the thanks we get.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite right.  First he invites those beasts to tear up the Graveyard however they see fit, then he has the absolute nerve to tell us we’re not allowed to pass through!  Why don’t we just roll ourselves down the mountain for the wretches to step on, while he’s at it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey’s chest swelled with the unfairness of it all.  He had half a mind to say something, but as he stood there, he caught sight of Donald approaching through the square.  As he headed past the group, his pace slowed, then stopped.  He cocked his head to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too much for Mickey.  He flung his cape around his shoulders, fluttering up into the air and shooting silently past the group, unseen. It hurt to fly, as the pain in his shoulder was just as real in bat form as in his usual shape, but it hurt worse to stand around.  All things considered, he felt pretty terrible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Donald felt pretty terrible himself as he walked through town that night.  In general, Donald didn’t much like unpleasant feelings to begin with and tried to avoid them, but at the moment, he was experiencing several different unpleasant feelings, which he felt was unfair.  He blamed Mickey for this, but since one of the feelings was guilt at having questioned Mickey’s leadership in front of everybody, and another was worry because his best friend in the whole world was hurt - he was sure of that now - and also in a pretty bad spot with whole town, well, Donald couldn’t even enjoy blaming Mickey for making him feel upset, which made him angry.  It was a mess.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t go away, either.  It was still troubling him the night after the mine collapse, and the night after that, churning around in his stomach which felt more dispeptic by the hour.  It was worse when he’d pass by the townsfolk huddled in little groups of three and four all around town.  Even now, days later, it seemed they couldn’t talk about anything else.  Bunch of busybodies.  Mickey’d made himself pretty scarce since the town meeting, at least when it came to strolling through the village square like he used to do.  The one or two times Donald caught a glimpse of him, it was always from a distance, and there were usually raised voices involved, whether it was Mickey’s or a little gang accosting him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d heard about the incidents, of course.  The night after the mine collapse, a couple of the village hotheads had started down the mountain path only to get stopped by a furious Mickey, that’s what Donald had heard.  Two nights after, someone had flown over the valley and dropped a bunch of hand-lettered flyers that said - well, they said what the writer thought of the Down Back folks, was what.  Donald had seen one of them - it was pretty spicy.  Mickey’d seen them too, must have, because as of that night, a strict curfew was announced for the whole town, and nobody was allowed further down the mountain pass than the first switchback.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People were hot about it.  Donald suspected that’s what half of Mickey’s little confrontations were about - folks yelling at him about everything.  And when they weren’t doing that, you’d hear them whispering amongst themselves instead.  There was a group of them now, outside the bakeshop.  Busybodies.  He could hear them twittering at a feverish pace as he approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...First he invites those beasts to tear up the Graveyard however they see fit, then he has the absolute nerve to tell us we’re not allowed to pass through!  Why don’t we just roll ourselves down the mountain for the wretches to step on, while he’s at it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard there won’t be any more bloodberries for weeks - maybe months!  What are we supposed to do when supplies run out?  We can’t just live off of regular food all by itself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet there wasn’t any trouble Down Back at all.  They’re just saying that to twist the knife now that the mine has stopped.  And Count Mickey’s letting them get away with it.  He’s letting that horrible witch walk all over us in staked shoes, is what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something’s got to be done.  I’ve always said Count Mickey’s taken too light a hand to things.  If he’s too much of a coward, why, then maybe we ought to have somebody else handle-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“WHAUGH!” cried Donald, leaping into the center of the little group, which erupted into terrified confusion for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Donald Duck!” cried Miz Cluck, puffing up to an enormous size with rage.  “That was childish!  What’s the matter with you?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hahaha, you shoulda seen your faces!  Now who’s a coward, huh?  Baaahhh, ya buncha old harpies!  Phooey!”  He dismissed them all with a disgusted wave of his hand and marched off, leaving the deeply offended group to start clucking about him instead.  Well, let ‘em.  Mickey had his faults, sure, but he wasn’t a coward and Donald wasn’t about to let anybody say so. Well, nuts, you’d think they’d forgotten how he’d dug into the mine with his own bare hands, how he’d lugged that moonquartz down the mountain personally just to check things out - not that anybody knew about that except for the two of them.  That was just the trouble - they </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> know.  If there was one thing Donald believed in, it was that a guy should get credit where it was due.  It made him mad.  In fact, it was so upsetting that for the first time in several days, Donald wasn’t thinking about his own troubles with Daisy at all, and so the sound of a feminine voice calling his name was a total surprise to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Donald!  Oh, Donald!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started guiltily, turning in amazement to see Daisy herself hurrying towards him.  He braced himself nervously.  “Uhhh….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been looking for you,” Daisy announced as she reached him, fanning her cheek against the faint exertion of having trotted to catch up.  Donald shot a look askance, possibly checking his escape routes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  I needed to talk to you.  Well, come on, don’t just stand there, folks will get nosy.  Let’s walk together.”  She threaded her arm through the curve of his elbow and pulled him along.  Donald followed, swallowing down a nervous lump.  After a few steps, she spoke again.  “Donald, is everything all right with Count Mickey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.  They were going to talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, eh?  In spite of his sympathetic reflections from mere moments ago, Donald felt a little stab of annoyance.  “Huh?  Mickey?  How should I know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re his best friend, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, I guess so.  Maybe.  Who wants to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, stupid.  I mean, you must’ve heard the rumors.  Everyone’s saying he’s been acting so strangely, even before the absolute disaster at the mine.  They say we’re about to run out of bloodberries altogether - what’ll we even do then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How should I know?  I don’t know how to fix it.  That’s Mickey’s problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy gave an exasperated sigh.  “Yes, but what if something’s the matter with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald frowned.  “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I mean is….” Daisy glanced around again.  “...You don’t suppose that witch put some kind of a curse on him or something, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!  Are you crazy?  Of course not.  Vampires are immune to curses anyway, aren’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, they say she’s awfully powerful.  But the point is, I saw him tonight.  The Count.  He was coming out of your Uncle Ludwig’s house.  Or - laboratory, or greenhouse, whatever he calls it these days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is that all?  Aww, forget about it.”  Donald waved a hand.  “Visiting Uncle Ludwig is nothing to worry about.  You can’t catch crazy.  Heh!”  He laughed, but stopped when Daisy poked his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious!  He came out the back door and he had a sneaky look about him.  That’s not like him at all and you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he just didn’t want everybody being nosy and spying on him.”  He squinted at her.  Daisy pouted, but acknowledged the prick with a little toss of her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m just concerned, that’s all.  He is your friend after all, and more importantly he’s the leader of us all and … well, I don’t like those Down Back monsters better than anybody else, but you should hear some of the things folks have been saying.  They’re out for blood, and not in the fun way, either.”  Almost to herself, she murmured, “...Some of the old ladies are the worst of all.”  Shaking her head, to Donald again:  “Just - warn the Count he’d better stay on his toes, all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, sure, toots. If I see him, I’ll tell him.”  Donald pondered for a moment as they continued to walk.  Daisy’s hand was still resting comfortably on his arm.  “Say, uh… what were </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing all the way over at Uncle Ludwig’s, anyhow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy’s pale cheeks flushed with the faintest trace of color.  “Oh.  Well.  I … just happened to be in that part of town and I thought I’d wander past.  Maybe say hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To Uncle Ludwig?” Donald made a face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy coughed delicately.  “Er - yes, or - well, I thought - I mean, he is your uncle and all, and I thought maybe I might … well!”  She gave a sudden determined laugh, conspicuous in its attempt to seem spontaneous, which it was not.  “There’s really nothing so strange about it, so there’s no need to get excited.  I was looking for you as a matter of fact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah ha!  I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> it!” Donald crowed, before it occurred to him abruptly that this might not have been a good thing at all.  He blanched.  “Er - what for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-e-l-l, I couldn’t help feeling like things ended up on the wrong foot last time I saw you.”  She shot him a significant glance which he acknowledged by tripping and dropping his hat.  He bent to snatch it back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah.  Uh...about that … I really am awful sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know.  Actually, I wanted to apologize myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald tucked his chin to his chest and stared at her with bare incredulity.  “You do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  I know I was a little short with you, but like you said, it was all a misunderstanding and - actually, now that I’ve gotten used to him, Lysander is actually very well-behaved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Lysander?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!  The frog, Donald.  I decided to keep him.  As a pet, of course.  He really is just adorable.  So I guess it all worked out in the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald stopped short, so that Daisy’s hand caught on his arm and pulled her up too.  She turned to face him.  He was still staring at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean - you’re not angry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angry? With you?”  She laughed musically.  “Of course not, silly!  I was never angry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, no!”  She laughed again.  “Oh, my, no.  I was just a little annoyed.  You’d know if I was really </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Donald.  An icy shiver ran down his back, then down his legs.  He successfully resisted the urge to fling her arm away and run until it subsided.  “Well, uh...in that case...how about I see you home, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, all right.  You can meet Lysander.  He’s terribly clever at catching flies, you should see him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait!” Donald lied.  Still, as they turned toward’s Daisy’s house, he couldn’t help feeling a welcome lightening of spirit.  Maybe things weren’t so hopeless after all.  And as for Mickey...well, maybe Donald had been a little hard on him too.  Poor guy had everybody else on his case at the moment, after all.  And it was a little odd for him to go see Uncle Ludwig.  Well, Mickey was never one to hold a grudge, and Donald was tired of doing it all by himself.  Just as soon as he saw Mickey next, he’d tell him it was all right and ask him what was eating at him.  He’d buck him right up.  They </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> best friends, after all.  He started to whistle as they walked along, shooting Daisy a rakish little wink.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Best-Laid Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Minnie stared at the frog, which stared back.  That was the one really nice thing about having a frog around to practice spells on.  You could practice a spell on anybody, but most people got nervous, and the reason they got nervous was because they thought maybe you might end up turning them into a frog.  Frogs, very logically, never worried about this one little bit, which made them much more relaxed.  Minnie squinted one eye at the frog, then took square aim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...</span>
  <em>
    <span>May the moonlight strike your head!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she intoned.  A burst of wind circled through the kitchen, tossing her hair and picking up loose notes from the table and scattering them like so many autumn leaves. There was a crackle of sparks, a low rumble of thunder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The frog blinked asynchronously, and then ribbited politely.  That was all.  Minnie flopped down into her chair and plunked her chin onto her hands with a heavy sigh.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, snakes and spiders.  Another dud.”  The frog bulged its throat out sympathetically.  Minnie sighed again.  It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much easier to just come up with a good curse than to try and trick a curse into doing something helpful.  It went against the very nature of a curse.  Now, to deprive a werebeast of moonlight and cast them into eternal shadow, that was a proper curse, a real whopper.  To send them about in a lovely soft glow of moonlight was something else, and the spell seemed to know it, too.  It just would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> cooperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, of course, Minnie couldn’t blame it all on the spell itself.  Spells were only as effective as the witch working them, after all, and Minnie knew she wasn’t at her best.  How could she be, when every night seemed to bring fresh troubles?  Ever since the bloodberry disaster, it seemed as though Minnie’s every waking hour had been spent putting out fires, so to speak.  Horace had already caught two or three hotheaded monsters setting out to cause mischief in the graveyard or worse, up the mountain.  So far, they’d been able to avoid any real incidents, but the mood was not good.  She knew perfectly well that the folks were whispering to each other, egged on by Pete, no doubt.  And that wasn’t the only problem weighing on her mind.  The wave of swamp fever still hadn’t completely died out.  There was always the chance it could pick up steam again, and with no new shipments of moonquartz coming for goodness knows how long, it was more vital than ever to come up with alternative solutions.  Minnie had always prided herself on working well under pressure, but this time it was different.  Everything seemed to be going wrong at once, and this spell that she needed to work so badly just refused to cooperate.  And it didn’t have to be that way.  Maybe that was half the trouble.  Every time Minnie tried to focus on what she needed to do, she would think about how frustrating it all was, how none of this had to happen, and her thoughts would go a hundred different ways.  That was no way to do magic.  Spells and curses, hexes and blessings, it didn’t matter.  You must have one clear thought, one desire, and nothing else could matter in that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie sat up straight, slapping her hands on the table.  The frog didn’t startle.  “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Light of the moon fall upon you!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”  She pointed a finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ribbit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohhhh, I’m a failure.”  Minnie lowered her head to the tabletop all the way, burying her face in her arms.  “...I can’t understand it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The frog waited a moment, to see if she would move, then it politely darted out its sticky tongue, which stuck to Minnie’s ear.  It left it there until she turned her head to look out with one eye, then let its tongue slowly come unglued.  It retracted it quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.  But it’s just no use,” Minnie said dully.  After a moment’s pause, she lifted her finger.  “...</span>
  <em>
    <span>A pox of purple spots!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The frog’s slimy body instantly bloomed into a mosaic of polka dots, purple, just as Minnie said.  It didn’t seem to notice.  She regarded her handiwork dully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie?  Are you still in here?  I’ve brought you a cup of tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie sat up as Clarabelle entered the room.  She’d been coming every night, just as usual, to help with the regular business - potion-making and whatnot - but things had been a little strained between them ever since the town meeting.  Minnie offered a tight little smile as Clarabelle set down a steaming teacup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s - oh, what a pretty frog!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Minnie sighed.  “You can tell Goofy I won’t need any more test subjects for tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No luck then, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.  None at all.  Some witch I turned out to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle frowned as Minnie swirled her tea leaves sadly.  “...Don’t say that, honey.  Yer tryin’ yer best an’ that’s all a body can do.  It ain’t your fault for trying to - well.  Some folks are just born rotten, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie had taken a sip of tea, but she set the cup down now, turning to face Clarabelle more fully.  The tension between them squeezed at her, like a string being drawn tight.  “What do you mean by that?” she asked, a little bluntly.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> born rotten?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle looked taken aback, but only for a moment.  Then she drew her shoulders back.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t the type to avoid speaking her mind.  “...I think you know who I mean, Minnie.  Now I don’t blame you, not for a second.  You’ve worked real hard to take care of folks ‘round here and I’ve never met a soul with a bigger heart than you.  You tried your best to be peaceable, but I think it’s time to face the facts.”  Minnie got to her feet, but Clarabelle did not stop.  “And the facts are that Count Mickey can’t be trusted.  Never could.  I don’t believe he ever had one good intention in coming here an’ this horrible business proves it.  I think the sooner you face that, th’ better it’ll be for all of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think he’s responsible for the bloodberries.  You really think he did that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, or else he ordered it done.  Why else would he have come here and snooped around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie clenched her little hands into fists.  “That’s not why he came here, Clarabelle.  You know it’s not!  You met him yourself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I did.”  Clarabelle’s cheeks flushed.  “...And I saw that he was charming and han’some and plenty smooth enough to take advantage of a good, sweet, trusting girl like you.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s ridiculous.  He wants peace, just like I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle snorted.  “Is that so?  Well, you gave him one chance to have it, and look what happened the second you did!  Minnie, it wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t help it.  But now you’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop letting him make a fool of you and face the facts.  He’s a vampire.  He doesn’t know any other way!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re wrong about him, Clarabelle.  Mickey would never do something like this, never!  He was difficult sometimes, but so was I!  Even in all the times we fought, the idea never entered his head - you were there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure I don’t know what might’ve entered his head - and neither do you, Minnie.”  Clarabelle turned and began rooting in her skirt pocket, withdrawing at last a crumpled piece of paper.  “Look - look!  I wasn’t gonna show you this, but -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie snatched the paper piquishly before Clarabelle could finish speaking, unfolding it until she could read what it contained.  It was a little nonsensical at first, but then she understood. It was … pretty vile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression must’ve been clear enough for Clarabelle to read.  She lowered her gaze.  “...Horace found it.  Someone scattered a few of them in the valley.  Just pure spite and nothing less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie folded the paper again, lips pressed tightly together.  “...The Count’s not responsible for everything people say,” she said at last, quietly.  “Not any more than I can stop Pete or anyone else from saying terrible things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.  But this is the way things </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  The sooner you stop thinking it’s anything different, the easier it’s gonna be for everybody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie turned away and walked to the fireplace, staring down into the dancing flames.  “...He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>our enemy, Clarabelle,” she said at last.  “None of them are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle looked miserable, although Minnie couldn’t see it.  Already, she was regretting revealing that letter.  She’d kept it from Minnie for a reason.  No good could come of hurting her that way.  If she couldn’t protect Minnie, who else was going to?  She’d been hurt enough.  That’s why this all had to stop.  She shook her head.  “Maybe.  But maybe it doesn’t matter.  Maybe it’s just too late to change things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie didn’t answer.  She heard Clarabelle leave the room, and a few moments later, heard the back door shut quietly, leaving her alone again.  She looked into the fire, turning that piece of paper over and over in her hands, until, with a surge of sudden anger, she took it up and tore it in half, then in half again, until it was nothing but a handful of pieces which she threw into the flames. Whatever relief she got out of doing it was gone by the time the pieces burnt, probably just the same relief as whoever wrote it had gotten - none at all.  Minnie rubbed a hand over her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a knock on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>front </span>
  </em>
  <span>door.  Minnie sucked in a breath.  Maybe it was Goofy.  Hopefully it was Goofy, and not a group of angry townsfolk demanding to know when she was going to punish the Count.  That had happened a couple times already.  Honestly, people seemed to think she had nothing better to do than throw curses around at people.  There was a second knock, so Minnie smoothed down her dress and hurried to answer it.  “Yes?” she chirped as brightly as possible, opening the door a crack and peering out into the night.  “Oh, hello, Missus Brekabone.  Won’t you come in?  What can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stepped aside for the werewoman to enter, which she did.  “...Mistress, I - well.”  She sighed.  “I won’t waste your time.  I need to know what’s being done about the mountain folk.  I mean, what steps are being taken to keep our folk safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s chest tightened but she was careful not to show it.  “Why, we’re taking all the steps we can.  But if it’s the vampires you’re worried about, I assure you we’re in no danger.  Horace and the nightwatch are keeping a careful eye on the trails from the valley and despite how terrible it was that the bloodberry crop was vandalized, no one was harmed.  And no one will be, so long as we all stay calm and -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s not enough,” Mrs. Brekabone interrupted, a little sharply.  She shook her head, nervously pacing across the entryway before turning back.  “...I’m sorry. It’s just … it was dangerous to go near the graveyard before.  Now it’s forbidden again and … and we just can’t go on like this any more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree completely.  But you must know how delicate the situation is at the moment.  I don’t want it to come to violence and I’m sure you don’t either.  I’m afraid all it may take is one cross look or word.  Better to keep everyone at home for a little while to avoid the temptation, at least until tempers cool a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if we can’t wait that long?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Brekabone wrung her hands, clearly distraught, before letting them fall to her apron.  “... It’s Rowdy, Mistress.  She’s been doing so well lately, but two nights ago she started taking a turn again.  I know it’s because she’s not getting enough moonlight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tightness in Minnie’s chest increased.  “Oh no - oh, why didn’t you say so before?  I - oh, dear.  My supply is terribly low, but I think I have a bottle of tonic left - or at least some uncut moonquartz.  I could grind that for you, if nothing else, and then -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  Mrs. Brekabone stepped forward suddenly, reaching out to take Minnie’s hands.  “Oh, Mistress - I know you’ve tried.  I don’t blame you for any of this, truly.  You’ve been so good to my family.  But my Rowdy’s not the only one who’s had the swamp fever this fall.  The little ones need more than moonquartz, they need to be out under the moonlight, they need to be in the valley!  And well enough if we can get through this rough patch, what’ll happen the next time?  We can’t keep to the dark always like the blood-drinkers do.  We need the light!  ‘Til they understand that, by choice or by force, it’ll always be the same.  Someone will always be suffering.  We’ve got to change it sometime, Mistress.  For our children’s sake.  We can’t keep passing our mistakes on to them, year after year.”  She hesitated, but the words had to be spoken, so she spoke them.  “...I know you’ve tried to keep things peaceful.  I hoped it’d work out that way.  But if the choice has to be made, then - best it happen sooner than later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s heart felt as if it were made of lead.  She was quiet for a long time, and then, softly, she said, “I’ll get that moonquartz for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Mistress.  Keep it.  Someone else may have worse need.  Anyhow, I’ve still got a little of the tonic you gave me, and I - I’ll make do.  But remember what I said.  Please.  Whatever you can do to end this, however it has to happen - well.”  She shook her head.  “No, don’t trouble yourself.  I’ll see myself out.  Take care, Mistress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie watched her go.  There was no chair handy, but Minnie would’ve liked one.  She felt old and tired and useless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where, exactly, had everything gone wrong?  Minnie tried to trace things back, but there didn’t seem to be any particular moment.  It had always been like this, hadn’t it?  Since before her time or Mickey’s.  And yet something had changed, it must have.  All the years they’d spent pecking at one another, no matter how angry she’d become, Minnie had never feared another war like she did now.  But perhaps it had always loomed this near.  She never would’ve cheered its coming, but maybe she would’ve done what most of the town now wanted: show the folks from Up There which was the superior clan, once and for all.  Maybe Mickey would’ve done the same, it was just…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>....They’d met.  That was the difference.  It wasn’t the world that had changed, it was Minnie herself.  It was Mickey.  She didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fight him, didn’t want to hurt anyone he was trying to protect.  Did he really feel the same?  Clarabelle had to be wrong about him.  She didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, not like Minnie did.  He was the only one who really understood, who really felt like Minnie did.  But maybe it was no use.  Perhaps Clarabelle was right about that part: maybe it was already too late.  Maybe it was too late before the first time they’d faced each other through the mirrors, hands trembling and voices shaking with nerves.  Before they were even born.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie turned and ran towards the stairs, racing up towards her bedroom.  She crashed through the door so hard it hit the wall, but she didn’t pay attention to that.  Instead she ran to her vanity, shoving trinkets aside until she picked up her compact mirror and opened it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey - Mickey, are you there?  Oh, Mickey, please answer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mickey shouldered his way through the front door and then leaned against it until it closed, sighing deeply.  He felt like he could’ve slept for days, but even if he went straight up to bed, he knew sleep wouldn’t come so easily no matter how tired he was.  What a mess.  He wasn’t sure how long he could keep on like this.  Dealing with everybody’s sniping and complaining was bad enough, but the worst of it was not feeling like there was one single person he could really confide in.  Donald was still angry with him, and as for Shyster… well, Mickey was beginning to really regret how blindly he’d listened to the Baron’s advice all these years.  Sure, there’d been plenty of times he’d disregarded it, but he wondered now how many of the little ‘incidents’ Shyster had reported had been trouble he’d stirred up on his own, or at least things he’d allowed to fester in folks’ minds.  It was one thing to question Mickey to his face, it was another to do it behind his back.  Mickey wasn’t sure which was worse, but he was beginning to suspect Shyster was more than capable of both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began to make his way up the stairs, and had just gained the top when he felt the compact in his pocket come to life.  He withdrew it at once, feeling an immediate surge of relief because it had to be Minnie, followed by dread, because she probably wasn’t calling just to have one of the comfy chats they’d enjoyed together so recently, and yet so long ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flipped the compact open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey? Oh, Mickey, thank goodness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie, what is it, what’s wrong?  Did somethin’ happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I just ....” she seemed to get flustered.  “I just wanted to...say hello.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”  He drifted towards the study.  “Oh.  Well.  H’lo.”  He slowed, and then stopped, shifting to lean back against the banister railing.  “...Gosh, it...it’s good ta hear your voice tho.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s lips parted, and then shut.  There was a look on her face Mickey couldn’t quite read.  After a second or two, she spoke again, and so quickly it took a second for him to understand what she was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey, I’ve got to see you, I’ve just got to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh - wha?  Whatsa matter?  Can’tcha see me now?”  He lifted the compact overhead, shifting it around.  “Is tha light too bad in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s not what I mean.  I want to see you for real.  In person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In - oh.”  He straightened.  “I… I thought we agreed it’d be better not to chance it until things cool down,” he hedged.  “Jus’ in case anybody took it as an invitation to start somethin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but I….”  Minnie checked herself with some effort, running a hand through her hair.  “...You’re right.  Of course you’re right.  I’m sorry, it’s just….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are ya sure everything’s okay?  Minnie.  Tell me th’truth.”  He drew the mirror close to his nose, squinting.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeess,” she said, eyes darting downwards immediately, away from his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it ain’t.  What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.  Really nothing, Mickey.  It’s all right, I just… I don’t know what to do.  It feels like everyone’s ready to explode.  I… I’m scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey swallowed hard.  “Yeah.  ...So am I.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked away again, fiddled with one of her earrings.  “Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> all right, Mickey?  You sound tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, I’m fine,” he said at once.  “Don’t you worry about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t help it.”  He blinked.  She didn’t clarify, didn’t dissemble, just looked at him with those beautiful sad brown eyes that looked so close but were really so far away.  “Somebody’s got to worry about you, haven’t they?” she almost whispered, offering a faint little laugh that wasn’t amused at all.  “It might just as well be me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey’s jaw pulsed as he clenched his teeth.  He fought the impulse, he really did, but even a vampire has his limits.  He gripped the mirror tightly.  “...Min.  I wanna see you too.  I’ll meet you somewhere - anywhere you say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s eyes went wide.  “What?  Really?  Oh, but - Mickey, do you think we should?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care.  I wanna see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie blushed.  It only made her more beautiful than ever, which would’ve strengthened his resolve if it had needed strengthening.  But she didn’t really try to argue.  “Well… I don’t think I can get away yet tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow night then.  When the moon’s over the mountain.  Where should I meet you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… what about the Graveyard?  Nobody else will be there - they shouldn’t be, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect.  We can talk without bein’ interrupted or startin’ any fresh trouble.  Neutral ground.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, exactly.  Until tomorrow night then.  And - be careful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned, and it felt like the first time in several nights.  “Aw, now you’re just gettin’ carried away with that worryin’ stuff.  I’ll see ya soon, okay?  Jus’ keep yer chin up until then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.  I will.  Goodbye, Mickey.  I - I’ll be waiting.”  She looked as though there were more she would like to say, but instead, she just offered him a soft little smile, and then her image disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey slowly closed the compact, thoughts awhirl.  Then, impulsively, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, right over the engraving of a bat carved into the metal.  He clutched it a moment more in silence, then pushed dazedly away from the railing to head towards the study.  There was still a lot to do yet this evening, and then he was going to need some rest if he was going to fly all the way down to the valley - if he could manage to fly at all.  But he’d get there.  Minnie would be waiting for him, just like she’d said.  He wanted to see her more than anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the study door had closed, the castle was silent - at least for a minute or two.  Then the shadows just beyond the closed study door began to move, and Baron Shyster emerged from their depths, moved noiselessly into the hall.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So.  The answer had been right under his nose the entire time.  The witch and the Count… it explained everything.  The little sneak.  Well.  There wasn’t a moment to lose.  Shyster glanced towards the closed door and paused, thinking for a moment, before hurrying to descend the staircase and rush outside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The night was getting on as Pete crashed through the woods towards his own cozy shack.  Most of the villagers were still hard at work, but Pete wasn’t about to bust his chops cleaning up those stupid bloodberries or doing anything else for that matter.  He’d already done enough hard work for one month when he sabotaged the mine up on Spire Mountain.  He still feel like that was a rotten deal.  How hard was it after all to glide down the mountain and tear up a few berry bushes?  It was like a picnic, that was what, while Pete had to break his back tearing out supports and shoving boulders around, AND stick around long enough to be seen doing it.  Well, at least he’d had the pleasure of seeing a few of their dumb horrified faces.  A little more of that would’ve been what the doctor ordered.  But that just went to show you how smart old Shyster was, in the end.  He’d promised the real fun would begin just as soon as their job was done, but had anything come of it yet?  No.  Not a thing.  Oh, everyone was talking about it, sure, but they talked all the time.  That was no different.  Leave it to a vampire to mess everything up.  Pete wasn’t a bit afraid of taking things into his own hands, but Minnie was a problem there.  No matter how much Pete complained and tried to get folks to see reason, they were a bunch of cowards in the end.  So long as she forbade the fight, nobody wanted to be the first one to step out of line.  Well, Pete wasn’t scared of Minnie, not one bit.  Just needed to deal with her first, that was what.  Get her out of the way - heck, either one of them - and it’d all come tumbling down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete shook his head.  When he was in charge, things would be different.  First thing he’d do would be to make bat-hunting the official village sport.  The second thing -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, cocking his head.  A sound of fluttering wings had caught his attention.  Pete turned just in time to see a black bat swoop into the clearing, and a moment later, Shyster himself was standing there.  Pete almost lost his balance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh - you - ya darn fool bloodsucker!  Are ya outta yer mind?”  Pete shot a look around, then grabbed Shyster by his oversized collar and yanked him into the shadows.  “I can’t be seen talkin’ to you, what’s the matter with ya anyhow?  Didn’tcha say we oughta lay low fer a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I did.  But the situation has changed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll say it has.  Some big idea of yours, huh?  There ain’t been so much as a broken toenail around here in days.  What about yer big kablooey, huh?  Baah, waste a’time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I admit that things haven’t progressed nearly as quickly as I’d hoped.  But then, I hadn’t anticipated how resolutely both the Count and your Mistress would resist the calls to war.  Highly curious, given their history, wouldn’t you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, real curious.”  Pete looked disgusted.  Shyster talked too much and always had. He wondered what he had ever seen in him, other than a weasley little traitor who could be counted on to stab his master in the back.  Apparently he couldn’t even manage </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>But Shyster went right on talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s almost as though they don’t want to fight at all.  As if they want nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span> than to fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete squinted.  The vampire was rambling, but there was usually a reason for it.  “What’re you tryin’ to say, prezactly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster’s eyes shone as cold and hard as two diamonds as he smiled.  “What I am saying, my friend, is that you and I have been handed a golden opportunity.  The Count will never allow our success so long as he lives - I can explain all of that to you in due time.  But what matters is this: if I can count on your help one last time, you’ll have your war, at last.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete’s brows lifted.  He was interested now.  He’d suggested something similar right from the start, but Shyster had always resisted.  “Ya mean…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”  Shyster turned his eyes upward, tracing the faint spills of moonlight that trickled through the leaves as the wind picked up and made them shiver in its chill.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to remove the Count from the equation - once and for all.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Missing and Found</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a lot to do the next night, but Minnie couldn’t concentrate on any of it.  And every time she let her mind wander, it wandered out to the graveyard where Mickey would be in a few hours’ time.  More than once during the evening, Minnie wasn’t sure how she was going to stand the waiting, but what always drew her back was a nagging sense of guilt that grew stronger right along with the anticipation.</p><p>Maybe it was because of what Clarabelle had said.  Minnie didn’t believe for a second that Mickey could ever want to see anyone hurt, and Clarabelle wouldn’t have believed it either if she’d come to know him like Minnie had.  But that’s what worried her.  The more she’d come to see what he was like, the more Minnie found herself feeling that it was all unfair, the way things were between their clans, if only because - because it meant the two of them, Mickey and herself, they couldn’t really - couldn’t really….</p><p>Couldn’t really what?  That was the part she tried not to think about too much.  It wasn’t as though she couldn’t come up with an answer.  But did that mean it was her motives which were impure, fueled by selfish hopes and wishes?  That was the part which frightened her most.  Not that Mickey was anything other than wonderful, but...what if Clarabelle was right?  What if it was really hopeless, and she was just too blind to see it?</p><p>But no, that couldn’t be - she wouldn’t let it be, and she was sure Mickey wouldn’t, either.  That was just one of the reasons he was so wonderful.  Clarabelle would see that, everyone would, if they just had the chance.  And then, Minnie would sigh, and off she would go into her daydreams again, and the whole circle would meet itself.  She spent the whole evening this way.</p><p>They’d agreed to meet when the moon was over the mountain; it was a common expression, but really that meant when the moon was hidden <em> behind </em> the mountain, since its apex was blocked by the mountain itself, at least when you were standing at the edge of the forest, or in the graveyard for that matter.  Minnie intended to be right on time, or even early.  But plans have a way of getting turned on their heads.  If Minnie had known what the night - and day - ahead would would bring, she might’ve summoned Mickey up in the mirror right then and there and told him not to come.  But she didn’t know, and she was still listlessly trying to make herself busy at the house when a frantic knocking at the door startled her out of her thoughts.</p><p>“Oh, dear.”  She got to her feet and hurried to answer it.  It seemed like somebody was forever knocking these days, and it was less and less seldom a pleasant visit.  Any hopes that this call might be different died immediately when she saw Goofy standing there twisting his hat; he was so distracted, he reached out to knock again without looking and almost punched her square in the nose.</p><p>“Why, Goofy!  Whatever’s the matter?”</p><p>“Oh! Miss Minnie, it’s terrible - it’s awful!”</p><p>“What is?  What’s happened?”</p><p>“It’s little Rowdy Brekabone.”</p><p>Minnie’s blood turned to ice within her.  She clutched the door.  “...Oh, no - has she taken a turn with the fever? Is it bad?”</p><p>Goofy shook his head, but he didn’t look any less miserable.  “No, it ain’t that - she’s missing!  Her maw’s been lookin’ everywhere an’ her pop an’ brothers an’ <em> I’ve </em> been lookin’ and nobody can find her anywhere.  One minute she was playin’ outside th’ house, the next minute - POOF!  Gone!”</p><p>“Oh, <em> dear! </em>”  Minnie felt a little ashamed at the flood of relief that washed over her.  A missing child was a terrible thing, to be sure, but a deathly ill one felt even worse.  It was no time to relax, however.  “Why, I’ll come right away and help you look for her.  Just let me get a couple things and I’ll meet you down at the gate.”</p><p>Goofy nodded.  “All right.  Say, ya...ya don’t suppose she coulda been… y’know.”</p><p>“What, Goofy?”</p><p>“Well, you know.”  He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper.  “Carried away by <em> vampires </em> or somethin’?”</p><p>Minnie frowned.  “Why, certainly not,” she replied at once, a little more scoldingly than she meant to.  “She probably went into the woods to play, that’s all.  Maybe chasing a frog or something.  You can see how tempting that might be, can’t you?”</p><p>“Well, yes, when you put it that way….”</p><p>“So just put the thought of vampires out of your mind.  Now I’ll be right there, and don’t worry.”</p><p>Minnie sighed as she turned and scurried around the kitchen to scoop up her bag and a few necessities.  She tried very hard not to allow herself to think this whole business might make her late for her rendezvous with Mickey, but it was hard not to acknowledge the fact.  Well, it couldn’t be helped.  The needs of the village always must come first.  E-even though seeing Mickey was really for the good of the village, too.  Er, wasn’t it?</p><p>Minnie hurried out the door to meet Goofy before she could think about it too much.</p><p> </p><p>It took Mickey quite a lot longer to make his way down the mountain tonight than it had when he’d flown down with Minnie - even longer than when he’d lugged the cart of bloodberries down the trail with Donald.  He walked, to begin with, so that was slower than flying, but as for the rest of it, he just couldn’t seem to work up a lot of momentum, even though he was looking forward to seeing Minnie.  He dressed up a little, even, put on a nice shirt and waistcoat and eased into a decent jacket.  The boots he couldn’t help, they had to be his most comfortable for walking in, but Minnie wouldn’t mind that, he was sure.  </p><p>It would’ve been nicer to fly, especially on a beautiful clear night like this one, but Mickey still didn’t trust his shoulder.  It didn’t hurt so much, but it still didn’t feel quite right, and the last thing he needed was to prolong things even more by pushing too hard.  So, with this uncharacteristically cautious view in mind, he went by foot.</p><p>He still arrived in the graveyard well ahead of the moon passing behind the mountain, mostly because he’d left far earlier than necessary.  It wasn’t as though he could get anything else done, not when his thoughts drifted back to Minnie as soon as he gave them the slightest bit of freedom.  Besides, it was nice to get away from it all for a while.  The graveyard really was a beautiful place, spooky and quiet and deeply foreboding.  Mickey strolled through the silent tombs and mausoleums, breathing in the damp air and feeling peaceful in a way he hadn’t felt for quite some time.  After a little while strolling this way, he came across a low broken-off piece of a column in a pretty little patch of moonlight, and Mickey helped himself to a seat. </p><p>And then he waited.</p><p>He’d known it’d be a while before Minnie came.  So he sat for a long time, and then he got up and walked around the graveyard some more.  He scrubbed off some of the gravestones to try and read what they said (impossible, too degraded).  He poked around some of the ruins.  He sat on the bench again.  He looked up at the mountain and tried to find where his castle was.  He walked around the graveyard the other direction.  He sat on the bench.</p><p>Minnie didn’t come.  The moon passed behind the mountain and emerged on the other side, and still she didn’t come.  Mickey walked slowly through the graveyard and tried to look at things logically.  There could be a million reasons why she might have been delayed or prevented. It didn’t mean anything, necessarily.  But then again, it might mean something.  He flipped open the compact a few times, just to check, and said her name into it a couple times too, but she didn’t answer.  So he put it back in his pocket and paced some more.</p><p>He was considering trying to reach her once more when at long last, as he wandered around the far end of the graveyard, Mickey heard someone moving around in the tall grass nearby.  He stopped short.</p><p>“Minnie?  Is that you?”</p><p>There was no answer, so he approached slowly, suddenly feeling a little apprehension.  The graveyard <em> was </em> technically off-limits at the moment.  So if someone other than Minnie was wandering around, that might mean nothing, or it might mean someone was up to no good.</p><p>“Hello?  Who’s there?”</p><p>The rustling stopped.  By now, Mickey had gotten pretty close.  Quiet or not, he <em> knew </em>there was someone in the grass.  His jaw tightened.  “All right, I know yer there.  Better come on out or I’ll come in after ya.”</p><p>The grass rustled again.  Then two ears appeared, followed by two huge dark eyes, and finally a whole little were-child.</p><p>Mickey relaxed at once.  It was only a kid.  “...Gosh, ya scared me!” he said cheerfully, before blinking.  “Say, I know you - yer name’s Rowdy, ain’t it?”</p><p>The child nodded, but didn’t say anything or move any closer.  Mickey only realized then that he’d seen her before, but she’d never seen him.  And he was a vampire, to boot.  Right.  He squatted down, closer to her size.  “Er… ya see … uhhh, Miss Minnie told me aboutcha.  Yeah, that’s it!  You know Minnie, huh?  Everybody knows her.”</p><p>For a moment, the little girl just stared at him, but then, very slowly, she nodded her head a second time.  Mickey beamed.  “That’s right!  She’s my friend, ya see?  Gosh, she’s awful nice.  Ain’t she your friend too?”</p><p>“Uh huh,” said Rowdy, chewing on one of her claws, huge eyes studying Mickey thoroughly.  He tried not to sweat.  Yeesh, what an intense gaze.</p><p>“Yeah.  Heh heh.  Er, say - you ain’t seen her around lately have ya?  I mean, here in the graveyard or anything?”</p><p>“Nuh uh.”</p><p>Mickey nodded.  “Hn.  Well, thanks just the same.  Come to think of it, what’re you doin’ all the way out here anyways?  Are yer parents around someplace?”  He shot a look around, feeling suddenly that perhaps a pair of concerned, vampire-hating werefolk might take it the wrong way, a vampire having a nice conversation with their little child.  But Rowdy shook her head again.</p><p>“Nuh uh.”</p><p>Mickey frowned.  “They ain’t?  Well - listen, kid, if a stranger asks ya where yer parents are, you should always say they’re right close by.  An’ never go anywhere with a stranger!  Understand?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“That’s right.  A-anyhow, I ain’t really a stranger tho.  What I mean is, my name’s Mickey.  Where are your folks at, Rowdy?”</p><p>“At home.”</p><p>“Figures.  Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself, then?  Doncha know it’s dangerous in the graveyard?”</p><p>Rowdy removed her thumbnail from her mouth at last.  “I played out here before.  With mama.  Mama says the moonshine is good for me.”</p><p>“She does, does she?”  Mickey turned to squint at it.  “Well, guess she’s right at that.”</p><p>“Mama says it’s good for my nose cuz I got a lot of snot in it.”</p><p>“That’s jus’ wonnerful.”</p><p>“Have you got snot in your nose?”</p><p>Mickey tucked his lips into his mouth because he wasn’t sure what on earth else to do with himself.  “...S’pose so.”</p><p>“Wanna play hide ‘n seek?”</p><p>“Well, I… say, Rowdy, does yer mama know yer out here like this?”</p><p>Rowdy tucked a strand of hair into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment.  “...She’s right close by,” she said at last.  Mickey’s eyes got very bulgy.</p><p>“G-good job.  But does she know where y’are?”</p><p>Rowdy grinned widely.  Mickey frowned.</p><p>“That’s what I thought.  Say, you better go on home.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“B’cuz yer mama’s probably worried sick aboutcha, that’s why.”</p><p>Rowdy thought about this, then her cute face turned into a pout.  She sat down on the ground.  Mickey squinted.  “Oh ho. So it’s like that, is it?  Well, all right then.  Where do ya live?  I’ll see ya home myself if that’s how it is.”</p><p>“No.  I don’t wanna.”  Mickey jutted out his jaw.</p><p>“Now, see here -”</p><p>“Noo!” Rowdy shrieked, so suddenly and sharply that his ears twitched.  She scowled up at him.  “I can’t go with you a’cuz you’re a <em> stranger </em>.”  </p><p>Mickey gaped at her, mouth hanging open, and Rowdy gazed back with eyes of stone, until at last he snapped his teeth together.  “Fine.  Then we’ll wait right here t’gether until Miss Minnie comes, an’ <em> she’ll </em>take ya home.”</p><p>Rowdy scowled a moment or two more, then her face dissolved into a smile just as quickly.  “Okay.  Wanna play hide an’ seek?”</p><p>It was, Mickey reflected, no real wonder that werefolk had a reputation for being short-tempered, prone to taking sick.  He’d heard they usually had big families.  Lots of kids.  Six or seven or eight.  All at once.</p><p>Cute as a bug, tho.  He nodded slowly.  “...Okay.  I’ll count.”</p><p>Rowdy leaped to her feet.  “Don’t peek!” she threatened fiercely.  Mickey lifted his chin archly, closing his eyes.</p><p>“A Count <em> never </em> peeks.  One!  <em> Two! </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“...Three, four, that’s all of us.”  Minnie looked among her friends.  Besides Goofy, Clarabelle and Horace had also volunteered to help when they’d met on the path and Minnie had told them what had happened.  They’d been searching the woods all night, but to no avail.  “No sign of her anywhere?  Did you check the big hollow oak?”</p><p>“Yes, and the mud pit, <em> and </em> the briar thicket,” Clarabelle moaned.  “Not a trace to be seen!”</p><p>“Where on earth could she<em> be? </em>” Minnie lamented.  Horace gestured grimly with his chin.</p><p>“Here comes Mrs. Brekabone.  Don’t look like good news.”</p><p>Minnie turned as Mrs. Brekabone reached them.  Worry was starting to make room for panic, and it broke Minnie’s heart how exhausted she looked.  “Have you seen her?  My husband’s walked all along the ravine and the boys have torn the house apart just in case she was hiding somewhere there, but - oh, I don’t know what to do!”</p><p>“Please try not to worry.  We’ll find her, I promise.”  Minnie reached out and took her hands, squeezing them.</p><p>“You don’t suppose - oh, it’s too horrible to -”  Mrs. Brekabone’s voice became choked with emotion.</p><p>“No.  I don’t suppose anything horrible at all,” Minnie said firmly.  “We’ll find her.  I’m certain of it.”</p><p>Mrs. Brekabone controlled herself with some effort.  “But what if she was  - was <em> carried off </em> by one of those - <em> one of those </em> -”</p><p>“Mrs. Brekabone!”  Minnie’s voice came out a little more sharply than she intended and she felt remorseful at once.  The poor woman was terrified, that was all.  She couldn’t help it.  Now wasn’t the time to talk about wild superstitions, even to point them out as such.  “...Please.  It’s important that we all stay calm - for Rowdy’s sake.  She might be lost somewhere, just waiting patiently for us to find her, so we just need to think of more places to look.”</p><p>“Yes - yes, I… I suppose you’re right.”  Mrs. Brekabone sniffed, withdrawing a handkerchief from her apron.</p><p>Minnie’s hand drifted to her own pocket.  Mickey.  She felt terribly guilty, allowing herself to think of anything else at a moment like this, but she had felt the mirror respond once or twice during the evening, and knew Mickey must’ve wondered what had become of her.  She’d wanted to respond to him, but there’d never been a convenient moment.  Perhaps he, too, thought the worst.  Perhaps he’d returned home by now - she almost hoped he had.  But how long had he waited for her, waited in vain?  Standing there in the graveyard, alone under the moonlight….</p><p>The graveyard.  The moonlight.  The thought struck Minnie with such force that she couldn’t even pretend to be coy about it.  How had she not thought of it sooner?  She turned.  “Mrs. Brekabone - do you think Rowdy might’ve gone out to the graveyard?”</p><p>The lady stared at her wide-eyed.  Horace made a face on her behalf.</p><p>“Why would a little kid go all the way out there?”</p><p>It got uncomfortably quiet for a moment.  Mrs. Brekabone twisted her handkerchief.  “...She’s been there before,” she admitted at last.  “I… I took her there to play in the moonlight.  To help with the swamp fever.”  She looked toward Minnie.  “I did tell her never to go there alone, but….”</p><p>Horace sighed.  “Well, I’ll head out that way lookin’, then.”</p><p>“No!” Minnie turned.  “...I’ll search the graveyard myself, Horace.  You and Clarabelle check down by the pond again, just to make sure - please.”</p><p>Horace quirked a brow, but he wasn’t the type to argue when there was work to do.  He shrugged.  “All right.”</p><p>“Where should I look?” Goofy queried anxiously, and Minnie chewed her lip for a moment.  </p><p>“Why don’t you check over by the sandy hill?  A lot of the little ones like to play there.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>As the others departed, Minnie squeezed Mrs. Brekabone’s hands one more time.  “Why don’t you head on home just in case Rowdy does turn up on her own?  And <em> don’t worry </em>.  It’ll be all right, I promise. One of us will find her.”</p><p>“Yes, Miss.”  The poor lady looked miserable, but Minnie smiled the best she could, before turning and hurrying towards the path that led to the graveyard.  Maybe it was wrong to feel a little surge of anticipation when there was so much to worry about, but at least she could tell Mickey why she hadn’t come - if he was still there.  Even if it would be better if….</p><p>She wondered if she should try using the mirror now, but in the end, decided it was best to just hurry as fast as she could.  So that’s what she did.</p><p> </p><p>Mickey shot a glance back towards the horizon.  The moon was almost gone now.  In another couple hours or so, the sun would be up.  He sighed heavily.  It was just no good.  He could call Minnie later, find out what had happened.  It was probably nothing.  But he couldn’t deny how bitterly disappointed he felt.  Lately it felt like there was nowhere to turn, no one who could ease the ache that throbbed in his chest night and day.  But to see her, just for a few minutes….</p><p>Mickey’s ears twitched.  For a second, he thought he heard - no, it must be his imagination.  But he got to his feet anyway, listening.  </p><p>“...Mickey!”</p><p>He was sure that time.  He couldn’t see her yet, but took a step forward.</p><p>“...Minnie?  I’m here!  Minnie!”  </p><p>She was there, hurrying towards him across the valley.  He raced toward her, closing the gap as she approached.  He tried not to smile so much but it was awfully hard, especially when she reached out her hands to him as they came together, practically colliding with one another in their haste.</p><p>“Mickey, you’re still here!  Oh, Mickey, I’m so sorry.  You must’ve been waiting for <em> hours </em>!”</p><p>“Aw, that’s all right.”</p><p>“No it isn’t! It’s dangerous!  The sun will be up in a little while.  Oh, I should’ve contacted you through the mirror, I never imagined - everything’s gone wrong tonight.”</p><p>“Gone wrong?” His smile fell as he saw her expression shift from pleasure - at seeing him, he’d hoped - to distress.  Gosh, she looked tired, too.  Her hands were resting against his chest, and quite without thinking he took them in his own and held them close.  “Minnie, what is it?  What happened?”</p><p>“It’s Rowdy - little Rowdy Brekabone.  She’s missing.  Her mother’s been searching for her all night, but nobody can find her anywhere, and she’s been so sick with the swamp fever and if anything happens to her, I -”</p><p>Mickey interrupted with a wholly inappropriate laugh.  “Aw, bats.  Is that all?  C’mere.”  He led a shocked Minnie by the hand around towards the bench where he’d been sitting earlier in the night, turning once to raise a finger to his lips, before nodding as they rounded an overgrown weed patch which blocked the view.  “Look,” he murmured.  Minnie did.  And there was Rowdy, safe and sound, all curled up in a little nest made of Mickey’s cloak, which she’d pulled around her like a blanket, fast asleep.</p><p>“Oh!”  Minnie raised a hand to her lips, turning to see Mickey looking back at her, squinting happily.</p><p>“We were playin’ hide an’ seek for a while an’ I thought it’d be all right so long as I kept an eye on her.  Figured I’d send her home with ya.  Then ya didn’t come an’ - well, eventually she fell asleep an’ I didn’t have th’heart ta wake her up.  I’m awful sorry, though.  I shoulda known better.  Lil’ kid like that an’ all.  She said her mama brought her here before, an’ I told her she should go on home, but then she said - well, it’s a long story.  Anyhow, it’s all right now, ain’t it?”</p><p>“Oh, Mickey.”  Minnie’s mouth trembled and she felt like she really might cry.  “I can’t tell you how - everything’s been going so wrong, lately.  I was so afraid something awful had happened.”</p><p>“Nonsense.  I wouldn’t let it,” he announced boldly.  The pronouncement was nonsense itself, but Minnie couldn’t help feeling affected by it.  Leave it to Mickey to make things all right without even trying.  She couldn’t help it, not that she really wanted to - she sort of pounced on him, throwing her arms around his neck.  She’d never felt so glad and relieved.</p><p>Then Mickey gasped in pain.  Minnie pulled away at once, in time to see him wince, even though he tried to hide it under a tight smile as soon as she looked at him. </p><p>“Mickey, what is it?  Oh, you’re hurt!”  She blanched.  Mickey’s hand had gone up to his shoulder automatically, but he dropped it again and tried to look unsuspicious.</p><p>“Who, me?  Naaww.”</p><p>“Your shoulder!”</p><p>“Oh, that? It’s nothin’.”  He casually rotated his body away from her but she scowled, shifting right along with him, fingers reaching out to hover over the apparent injury, prod at him as gently as possible.  Meanwhile he evaded her as best he could.  “...Really, it’s not.  Pulled it a little durin’ that business with the mine, that’s all.  It’s gettin’ better all the time.”</p><p>“The mine?  But that was <em> days </em> ago.  I thought vampires healed quicker than almost anybody?”</p><p>“I do.  We do.  Just been a lil’ tired lately, that’s all.  Ain’t gettin’ my usual exercise, sittin’ around too much worryin’ about how to tell off that ol’ swamp witch this time.”  He flashed a smile, but Minnie didn’t laugh at his joke.  </p><p>“You lied to me!  You told me <em> twice </em> that nobody got hurt.”</p><p>“An’ nobody <em> did </em>.”</p><p>“<em> You’re </em> somebody!”</p><p>“I’m not either, I’m - well, a public official.  Hey.”  He caught her hand again with his good one.  “Min, honest.  I’m okay.  Jus’ glad to see you, that’s all.”  He dipped his head to catch her gaze.  “...For a lil’ while there I thought...maybe you changed your mind.  Guess it woulda hurt my feelings a little bit if you did.”</p><p>Minnie was still pouting a bit, but it was awfully hard to resist him.  She dipped her chin towards her chest.  “Of course I didn’t change my mind.  I couldn’t possibly.”  She shook her head.  “But I should’ve contacted you, I should’ve told you to go home. I don’t know what I was thinking.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t have mattered.  I wouldn’t have listened.”  He gave her a crooked grin when she shot him a frown.  “...Wanted t’see ya too much, that’s all.”</p><p>Minnie’s brown eyes looked huge to him, soft and melting.  “Do you really mean that?”</p><p>His undead heart battered against his undead ribs.  “...A’course I do.”  Minnie let out a shuddering sigh.</p><p>“Oh, Mickey, I wanted to see you too.”  She shivered faintly as a breeze gently tousled her hair.  “I really shouldn’t stay.  Everyone’s still searching for Rowdy, and you have to get home before dawn.  But I’m glad you waited.  I’ve missed you.”  She looked down at her feet.  “...Things aren’t very good in the forest right now.  It feels like … like walking on dry kindling in flint shoes.”</p><p>Mickey nodded grimly.  “Yeah.  It’s th’same up on the mountain.  Keep waitin’ for things to calm down but it feels like th’pressure just keeps buildin’ up an’ nothin’s lettin’ it out.  Folks useta blow off steam just by complainin’, you know - throw a good tantrum an’ take a nap after, but it feels like that’s not good enough anymore, not after this.  Everybody’s taken it personal.”</p><p>“Yes.  Everyone says if we don’t respond, it’s the same as admitting we’re weak.”</p><p>“Pff.  As if causing more trouble’s gonna fix our problems.  I don’t see why everybody’s gotta be so stubborn.”</p><p>Minnie was silent a moment, then a trace of a smile tugged at her lips.  “...I guess it’s a good thing <em> we’d </em> never be stubborn like that - isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yes!  I mean, fer wicked sakes - oh.”  She was teasing.  He realized it late enough that she had the pleasure of seeing him act indignant for a moment before he broke into a grin himself, even laughed sheepishly.  “Well … a-at least we learned our lesson, huh?”</p><p>“I suppose we have.”</p><p>Was there something about Minnie that made all his troubles feel puny and far-away?  Was it because she was a witch?  He felt it had an awful lot more to do with her being herself.  Mickey shuffled his feet.  “Well...I guess I shouldn’t keep ya,” he admitted with some regret, but couldn’t help admiring her again.  He tilted his head reflectively.  “Y’know, I felt like I had an awful lot I wanted to say to ya, but now that you’re here, why… doesn’t feel like I gotta say too much at all.  Kinda funny, ain’t it?”  When she looked up at him, he blushed a little.  “What I mean to say is …yer not like anybody else I ever met, Min.  An’...when this is all over… I … do you think that… you an’ me… that we could ever....”</p><p>He didn’t quite know how to finish, and looked up into her eyes a little helplessly.  But Minnie was looking back at him, and surprisingly, Mickey found he’d been more right than he knew.  He didn’t need to say anything else.  She already knew, somehow or other.</p><p>“Mickey…”</p><p>Minnie stepped forward and put her arms around his waist, burying her face in his neck.  He closed his eyes.  That night in her garden felt like a lifetime ago, but Mickey found now that he’d never really stopped dreaming of being so close to her from that moment to this.  He pulled her close, even though it hurt to hold her so tight.  And he nestled his cheek into her soft hair, just like he’d longed to do.</p><p>And he loved her.  That was all.  Maybe he’d known it for a long time or maybe he only just figured it out right then.  Didn’t change anything.  She was kind and smart and wonderful, more beautiful than anybody, wiser and stronger and funnier and he wished he’d known it all along, but he knew it now.</p><p>“I’m gonna fix this,” he murmured hoarsely.  She lifted her head at last to look up at him and the way he felt when those soft eyes met his, well.  Wars had been waged for far less.  Stood to reason they could be prevented, then.  He brushed a tangled curl back from her face, let his fingertips drift across the velvety curve of her cheek.  “...I won’t ever stop ‘til I fix it.  I promise.”</p><p>Minnie’s hand came to rest on top of his, then the other curled around his wrist.  “...So do I.  No matter what.”  She pressed her cheek into his palm, shutting her eyes.  “I <em> promise </em>.”</p><p>Separating from her was maybe the hardest thing Mickey had ever done.  But he managed it, somehow, carefully lifted the still-sleeping Rowdy into his arms, in spite of Minnie’s alarm over the state of his shoulder, and they walked together to the edge of the woods, where he transferred the little girl into Minnie’s safe embrace.  He shook his head when she tried to offer his cape back.</p><p>“Naw.  Keep it.  S’chilly out.”  He studied the little girl.  They looked so peaceful and cute when they were sleeping.  Must be part of how they got away with being such little skeeters when they were awake.  Minnie looked awful pretty with a cute kid in her arms though - not that she needed the help.  He just noted it, filed it away.</p><p>“Sure you’ll be okay gettin’ home?” he murmured.  Minnie smiled at him. </p><p>“Yes.  But what about you?  Will you have enough time?”</p><p>“Aw, yeah.  Dawn ain’t for ages yet.  I’ll be just fine.”</p><p>“Well, be careful just the same.  And if you need me, next time I promise I’ll answer when you call.”</p><p>“I promise too.  No matter what.”</p><p>They lingered just a moment more, knowing every second from here on out was stolen.  Mickey swallowed hard.  She was so close to him.  Her lips parted slightly.</p><p>Rowdy shifted and sighed in her sleep, curling her arms around Minnie’s neck.  Mickey lowered his gaze, smiling in spite of himself.</p><p>“...G’night,” he whispered.</p><p>“Good night,” Minnie murmured back.  Then she leaned forward just enough to rub her nose against his.  Just for an instant.  Then she turned and hurried into the woods and was gone in a moment.</p><p>Mickey felt so weak he was sure he could hardly walk.  But dawn would come with or without him, so he turned and shuffled dazedly back across the valley towards the graveyard.  Minnie.  Minnie.  Minnie.  His heartbeat carried her name in it.  He’d move the mountain itself for her.  He’d move the graveyard, if that’s what it took!  Let Evernight Forest grow right up over the whole thing.  He’d let the whole village take a turn at punching him in the face and come out smiling, if that’s what it took.  Why, he’d -</p><p>He stopped short.  His mind still seemed filled with a sort of pleasant pink haze, but something was tingling on the periphery of it.  He tilted his head.  “...Hello?”  He turned and looked back.  Maybe Minnie had forgotten something.  But there was nobody behind him.  Mickey frowned a little.  Just his imagination, perhaps.  He turned and started towards the mountain path again.</p><p>After that it was a blur.  He felt something grab him sharply by the collar and yank.  His hands flew back at once to prevent the collar from choking him, and he cried out in pain and surprise as the sudden movement stabbed at his shoulder. It didn’t hurt him for long though.  A second later, something hard smashed down on his head and the whole world went black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Dawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mickey came to slowly, head pounding.  All he could make out at first was a jumble of voices, but as the pain in his skull clarified from a heavy mist into a distinct sharp throbbing on the back of his head, the voices separated into two distinct speakers, one familiar and one not.  He couldn’t breathe either, and eventually he realized this was because someone was dragging him by the back of his jacket, his shirt collar digging into his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...just dealt with the child and gotten it all over with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, who’s bossin’ who around here anyways?  If you wanna smash th’ count’s head in, that’s fine with me, but nobody’s gonna go messin’ with any forest folk except for me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna be the leader, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> th’ one who decides who gets messed with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine!  Fine!  Just as you say.  Only let’s get on with it.  Dawn’s coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was Shyster’s voice, Mickey thought groggily.  The other laughed roughly.  “Oh yeah?  An’ what do I care?  I ain’t a weakling bloodsucker who’s afraid of a lil’ sunlight.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> ain’t gonna burn up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps not, but you know what they say about werefolk who spend too much time in the sun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The big werecat paused.  “What do they say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That it saps their strength right away.  Leaves them as weak as kittens.”  Shyster continued on, smiling to himself.  His companion followed after a second, muttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Bogwash, I betcha.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey opened his eyes, which was painful, reaching back to claw at the hand holding him prisoner.  “H-hey, lemme…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, look who’s awake!  An’ just in time, too!  Yer accommodations is all prepared, see?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey found himself flying and tumbling onto hard stone, rolling a couple times before he came to a stop, dazed and in pain.  He clutched his head a moment, shaking it to try and clear the mist, before lifting his gaze to find himself looking up at Shyster, leaning against an ornate walking stick, and behind him, the towering form of a sneering werecat.  He was disoriented for a few seconds, but found after a moment’s looking around that he was in a small stone chamber, totally enclosed on all sides save the front, which was entirely blocked by his two companions.  The werecat’s meaty hand was resting on a half-open iron gate which stretched from floor to ceiling, fingers looped through the ornate and close-set criss-crossing bars.  They barely fit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster was gazing down at him with his usual smirk.  There was something new, though, or at least, different.  Mickey had always sensed a hint of contempt behind his eyes, but now it was no hint - it was there openly and plainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, Your Grace.  Or rather, I should say, good morning.  I believe the dawn is fast approaching now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shyster,” Mickey hissed, pushing himself up to his knees.  The huge werebeast hovering over the Baron’s shoulder - that must be Pete.  He was sure of it.  “...What do you think you’re doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come now.  Let’s have no more secrets between us.  It’s obvious, surely.”  Shyster indicated towards the east with his head.  “My friend and I have just locked you inside this mausoleum.  In a little while, the sun will come up, and when the light reaches you...well.  I’m sure you can fill in the rest for yourself easily enough, there’s no need to be indelicate about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey’s blood felt like ice water.  Yeah, he could fill in the rest.  He got slowly to his feet, cradling his aching arm in his good one.  “You’ve lost your mind.  What do you think yer gonna get outta this, you rat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster blinked, but didn’t look especially taken aback.  “Well...everything, obviously.  With you out of the way, and the details of your unfortunate death reported with just a few careful adjustments, Spire Mountain will belong to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, an’ then what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“War, that’s what!” Pete burst out.  “While you’ve been tryin’ to butt in where ya don’t belong, nobody’s been able to lift a finger without Minnie gettin’ uppity about it.  But once you’re gone, I’ll be able to take care of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, an’ then we’ll see about all yer lil’ nicey-nice palsy walsy talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take care of - !  Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if you so much as lay one big fat finger on her -!” Mickey lunged toward the pair of them.  Pete took a step back reflexively, but then laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooo!  Feisty little guy, ain’tcha?  We’ll see how feisty ya are when th’sun comes up, won’t we, huh?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not first-hand, of course.  I, for one, will be long gone by then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete looked thoughtful - or whatever came the closest to it.  Thoughtfulness might’ve been somewhat beyond him. “Yeah, shame we can’t hang around t’see the show.  I’ve always wanted to see what happens when the dawn hits one of you bloodsuckers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey fought back a shudder.  “...I guess Minnie was right about you - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pete</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how’dja know my - wait, she was?  What’d she say about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey crossed his arms - ouch - and tried to look arch.  It was difficult, locked up in a stone crypt.  “Oh, lotsa things.  But she did mention ya hated everything to do with Spire Mountain, an’ vampires most of all.  So tell me somethin’ - how come you’re workin’ for Shyster, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ain’t workin’ for him,” Pete growled immediately.  “I’m workin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>besides</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, an’ that’s just temporary, see?  He sees things th’ way I do, that your kind an’ mine ain’t meant to be pals.  We’re gonna see things settled th’ proper way: with violence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So once you get me outta the way, yer just gonna turn right around an’ start fightin’ each other again?” Mickey looked incredulous.  Shyster smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re merely going to return things to their proper order, that’s all.  Just because we’re natural enemies doesn’t mean we can’t agree on certain unalienable truths.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Pete agreed.  He had no idea what ‘unalienable’ meant.  “An’ of them is that no lil’ pipsqueak like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> is ever gonna tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> what to do.”  Mickey stood back from the bars a bit.  Crazy, all of it was crazy.  But then, people would’ve said the same thing about him and Minnie, probably, and who was to say which one of them was chasing the more impossible dream?  And now, look where they’d ended up.  It was a pretty bad situation, that was for sure.  Mickey’s eyes darted over the metal gate, up to the ceiling, back down. It was certainly the only way in or out of here.  Of course, he still had Minnie’s compact safely hidden in his pocket - if he could contact her in time….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess you’ve got it all figured out then, huh?  Except for one or two little things I suppose.  For starters, what exactly makes you think you can keep me in here?”  He jutted his chin towards the gate.  “...Those bars don’t look so tough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Shyster actually laughed at this.  “Ordinarly, I’d agree.  Your strength is considerable, certainly.  But I’m not above taking advantage of a little good luck - or bad luck, I suppose, from your perspective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster’s arm darted out with startling speed then, and his walking stick caught Mickey in the shoulder, pinning him up against the stone wall.  Mickey cried out, and Shyster looked pleased.  “...I couldn’t have known you’d go and injure yourself when I planned the mine collapse, but you know what they say about fortune favoring the bold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey sucked in a laboured breath through his teeth as the end of Shyster’s walking stick dug into his screaming muscles.    “S-so...that </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> you then... after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naturally.  I wouldn’t dream of taking all the credit though.  It was Pete here who actually triggered the cave-in - according to my explicit instructions, of course.  I myself was seeing to the foresters’ bloodberry crop at the time.  Another smashing success, from what I hear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Mickey jeered.  “Takin’ orders from the Baron after all, huh, Pete?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete scowled.  “I don’t take orders from nobody.  Jus’ so happens I </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> the idea, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bet.”  Mickey’s gaze flicked to Shyster.  “You coulda gotten someone killed.  Yer nothin’ but a traitor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster’s eyes flashed.  “I - ?  On the contrary.  People die defending their birthright all the time.  Just ask the mortals.  Their lives are so pitifully short, and still they risk them for honor every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s th’honor in bickerin’ over - over </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shyster shook his head.  “I suppose that’s the difference between you and I, Mickey.  You never really understood your own birthright.  I think our forebears would be quite disappointed in you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey beared his fangs.  “...Maybe our forebears were dopes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh!  First sensible thing you’ve said all night,” Pete chortled.  Shyster merely shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.  All the more reason for a change of regime, then, wouldn’t you say?”  Shyster relaxed his grip, but didn’t release Mickey entirely.  “I really do regret saying goodbye this way, you know.  A vampire of your talents could’ve been a truly great leader, but… ah, well.  I shall just have to rise to the occasion, shan’t I?”  Shyster dropped the walking stick from Mickey’s shoulder, but even as he reeled from the rush of sensation where the stick had rested, the Baron snapped his fingers.  “Oh, yes - I almost forgot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Mickey realized what he was up to, the Baron had reached out and a moment later, withdrew his hand with - Mickey snatched out for it, but he wasn’t quick enough.  Shyster stepped out of reach, holding the compact mirror triumphantly in his fingers.  “How careless of me!  We wouldn’t want you spoiling our plans, would we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give that back!”  Mickey lunged forward, but his grasping hand didn’t come anywhere close.  Pete shoved him back so hard he flew back against the stone once more, and slammed the gate with a rattling clang.  As he locked it up tight,  Shyster studied the compact a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, this really a remarkable object.  Incredibly convenient, I’d imagine.  It really is a shame.”  He gave a little sigh.  “Oh, well.”  He dropped the compact to the ground outside and gestured to Pete.  “If you would care to do the honors, my friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With pleasure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t - !”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too late.  Pete’s heavy heel descended on the mirror.  Mickey flinched as he heard the crack and shatter of glass.  Pete stepped back to admire his handiwork - er, footwork - crumpled metal and glass ground to powder and shards.  Mickey’s chest felt tight.  He pressed himself to the gate, gripped the ironwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yer not gonna get away with this,” he hissed.  “I won’t let you.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Neither </span>
  </em>
  <span>of ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete laughed.  It was a deeply unpleasant sound.  “Yer gonna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, squeaky!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough.  It’s nearly dawn.”  Shyster threw his cloak over his shoulder, pausing only once more, just for an instant.  “...Goodbye, Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shyster - you - SHYSTER!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the Baron was gone, transformed in the blink of an eye and the flutter of black wings, the sound of which faded into the greying mist.  Pete snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pompous ol’ creep.  Y’know, jus’ between you an’ me - I’m gonna be lookin’ forward to givin’ him the same sorta surprise jus’ as soon as I’m in charge.  Mebbe then I’ll have time to stick around and watch.  So long, squeaky.  Oh - an’ don’t worry.  I’ll take real good care of Minnie from now on.”  He laughed again.  Mickey gripped the gate so hard his hands shook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete - I’ll getcha for this - PETE!  You can’t stop me, Pete!  Even if I’m dead, I won’t let you touch her!  Do you hear me?!  Even if I’m dead!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete’s heavy footsteps faded away and Mickey was alone.  He slumped back for a moment.  Great.  Just great.  What in the world was he gonna do now?  He could already see the mist starting to lift, and the eastern sky beginning to turn grey in warning of the impending sunrise.  Well, sitting around wasn’t gonna help anything.  He had to get free, and fast.  Mickey tried the bars again.  They were pretty solid; a testament to the mortals’ fear of their own dead.  Silly, really.  As if ghosts or zombies ever did much except make a nuisance of themselves.  None of that did Mickey any good at the moment though.  He strained at the bars for a moment, shivering with pain as his arm protested.  Well, maybe he could kick through them.  He tried two or three kicks, then sat down and gripped one of the bars with his good arm, setting his foot against another one and pushing.  It groaned a little, but it took an awful lot of effort to bend it even a smidge.  After a couple minutes of fruitless effort, Mickey stopped to take stock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was bad.  Between his arm, lack of bloodberries and everything else, he’d known he felt weak, but he hadn’t realized how much.  He chewed his lip.  Think, Mickey, think.  Maybe there was another way.  He pressed his face to the bars.  The compact mirror lay open and shattered a few feet away.  He couldn’t possibly reach it, even if it was intact, but….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie?  Minnie, can you hear me?  Minnie!  Minnie, I’m trapped - I’m stuck in the graveyard.  Minnie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, listened.  There wasn’t the faintest sound, no sign of life whatsoever.  He hadn’t expected anything else, but ….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole way back home, Minnie felt like she was glowing.  It was wonderful, certainly, to pass a still-sleeping Rowdy back into the relieved, overjoyed arms of her mother, but even after that, the feeling didn’t go away.  Actually, Minnie had been in such a rush to get Rowdy home, she’d forgotten about Mickey’s cloak until she was actually handing Rowdy over to Mrs. Brekabone.  She’d made kind of a funny face, but hadn’t asked about it, and Minnie hoped she wouldn’t.  Of course, goodness knew what Rowdy might say later, but… well, that was a problem for tomorrow night.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t stop thinking about it, anyway.  How sweet he’d looked, carrying Rowdy, how gentle he was.  The way he’d smiled down at his boots so shyly.  The way he’d hugged her so close.  If it was for him, she could keep on going, no matter how rough things got.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t resist the temptation to draw out her compact one more time, flipping it open - just to say good night.  Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie called his name a few times, then offered a cute little pout into the mirror’s swirling surface.  “Mickey, you promised,” she scolded, but by the time she closed the mirror and replaced it in her pocket, he was already forgiven.  After all, he was probably flying home at that very moment, and she would rather he get there safe and sound rather than stopping to talk.  Besides, she really shouldn’t be stopping to talk herself.  Her friends were still out looking for Rowdy.  Once she let them know everything was all right, everybody could go home and get some rest.  And about time too; it was almost dawn.  Minnie fought back a yawn at the very thought of it.  What a night.  Tomorrow night, she would call Mickey up again, she had already decided.  Maybe he could help her come up with some new ideas on how to make that spell work.  If they could help ease the immediate crises both of their communities faced, surely that would soothe a lot of the rumpled fur and feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked up at the slowly-lightening sky as she made her way down the forest path towards home, breathing in the night air deeply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mickey dropped back to the ground.  Climbing the gate was painful, but more importantly, it was also useless.  The metal was as solid at the top as it was at the bottom.  Could he squeeze between the bars?  Maybe if he shifted into a bat, he could do it.  Mickey tried that.  Even spreading his wings hurt, as his injured shoulder shifted right along with him, but he walked to the bars and eased himself into the gap.  It was no good; the openings were too small.  He tried a few of the irregularly shaped openings towards the top of the gate too, but that didn’t work either, and after nearly getting his head totally stuck, he transformed back into human shape and sat down on the floor, exhausted, pausing a moment to try and catch his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, it occurred to Mickey that he was in real, serious trouble.  The mausoleum Shyster had selected sat at the highest point of the graveyard, and the gate faced due east.  You couldn’t have picked a better spot for seeing the sun come up.  The horizon was lightening more every moment; it already made Mickey feel uncomfortable and prickly to look at it.  He rested his forehead against the gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think.  Think, Mickey.”  He closed his eyes.  What in the world was he gonna do?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Minnie opened the gate and let it swing shut behind her as she approached the house.  Hopefully the others had made their way back by now to reconvene; she was looking forward to telling everyone the emergency was over.  And, perfect timing - there was Goofy now, sitting on the front porch, waiting.  He got to his feet as Minnie approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gawsh, I’m glad t’see you.  Any sign of her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, thank goodness!  She was in the graveyard after all.  She’s home safe and sound now, there’s nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phew!  That’s sure a relief.”  Goofy removed his cap and fanned his face with it, like an overheated old woman.  “I was startin’ to worry somethin’ really awful happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, Goofy.”  She patted his arm comfortingly.  “We were all terribly worried about Rowdy, I’m sure.  But I told you everything would be all right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  But that weren’t the only reason.”  He bent a little closer, lowering his voice.  “...When I was walkin’ here jus’ now, I saw Pete headin’ home.  Thought ya mighta crossed paths with him.  Looked like he was comin’ back from th’ edge of the woods himself, an’ he looked real cheerful.  An’ frankly, anytime that guy looks happy, somethin’ bad’s bound to be going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s brow furrowed a little.  Goofy’s assessment was a little too spot-on for comfort.  “Did he say anything to you, Goofy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naw.  I didn’t give ‘im the chance.  Hid behind a tree.  But he was whistlin’, I could hear that much.  I like a good ditty myself, but a fella like Pete - it was a little sickenin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… maybe he was just thinking of something nice,” Minnie said doubtfully.  Goofy’s long face stretched out even longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could be,” he murmured, unconvincingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie chewed on the inside of her lip.  “Oh look, here comes Horace and Clarabelle.  Yoo-hoo!”  She waved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie!  Thank goodness.”  Clarabelle came scurrying up the path when she caught sight of the pair on the porch, Horace following along behind.  “Any sign of Rowdy? I’ve been worried sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, she’s found and home safe, everything’s perfectly perfectly all right now,” Minnie said, running down to take Clarabelle’s hands and squeeze them comfortingly.  Clarabelle let out a long breath, almost swooning - which was, perhaps, a little overdramatic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank mischief!  I’m sure I never felt such a terrible premonition in my life, ‘specially not after -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped, as Horace shot kind of an odd look at her.  Minnie caught it, and pursed her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Not after what, Clarabelle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horace sighed and looked sort of exasperated.  Clarabelle drew back and wrung her hands a moment, then jabbed her head Minnie’s way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell her, Horace!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tell her, yer the one who seen it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle huffed out an impatient breath, but irritation with Horace was close to her standard state of being, and she couldn’t let it slow her down.  She put her hands on her hips.  “Minnie.  I know you said not to go near the graveyard, but when we checked down by the pond an’ the mite wasn’t there, I said to Horace, look, it never hurt to have more than one pair of eyes on a job, and he said to me -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get to the important part, woman!  She doesn’t need to hear all the prologue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle didn’t stick her tongue out at him, but looked as though she might’ve liked to.  “So… we went to check the graveyard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s heart skipped a couple beats.  “...O-oh?” she squeaked.  “And… w-what did you see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A vampire,” Clarabelle said firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie tried not to look guilty, but it was hard.  She didn’t quite know what an innocent person who hadn’t met with a handsome count and been held in his arms would look like.  “R-really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Except</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Horace prompted.  Clarabelle huffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a bat, flyin’ away up towards the mountain, but it was a vampire bat, mark my words.  I wasn’t born yesterday an’ I know th’ diff’rence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie relaxed ever so slightly.  “O-oh.  A bat, you say?  And...w-when exactly was this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we just came straight from there.”  Minnie nibbled her lip again.  That was … a little worrisome.  She’d left Mickey at the forest’s edge, taken Rowdy home, walked all the way back here… it was possible Mickey’d wanted to catch his breath before heading home, but it was getting awfully close to dawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er, Clarabelle, this bat you saw: it didn’t seem to be hurt or anything, did it?  Maybe a sore wing or … oh, something like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle squinted.  “Nnnoooo,” she said slowly.  “Why do you ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No reason.  I was just - it’s a strange time of night for a vampire to be out, don’t you think?  It seems dangerous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle snorted.  “Sure, but maybe they just hadn’t got any sense at all.  Who knows what goes through their minds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… thank you for telling me just the same.  I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I’ll be sure to mention it to the Count the next time I speak with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.  About the Count, Minnie -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say, it’s getting awfully early in the morning,” Minnie interrupted.  “I really think we should all go home and get some sleep.”  As if to prove her point, she went up the porch to the door and opened it, turning to stand in the doorway.  “...Now that Rowdy’s safe at home, I’m sure we could all use the rest.  We can talk about everything else some more in the evening.  All right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good to me,” Horace muttered.  Clarabelle pouted, but even she could see it was pointless to argue.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.  We’ll talk about it tomorrow night.  But we </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk about it.  And you lock your doors today, Minnie.  I never have liked the thought of you in that big ol’ house all alone, especially these days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie smiled in spite of herself.  No matter how difficult Clarabelle could be, she really did care.  It was nice to be reminded of that again.  “I will.  Good morning, Clarabelle, Horace - Goofy.  And thank you, for everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie waved to her friends sweetly, and then shut the door.  Woof.  What a night.  She really did feel exhausted, and intended to make good on her suggestion of getting some rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although...Minnie paused at the bottom of the stairs.  After a moment’s hesitation, she pulled out her compact again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey?  ...Mickey, please answer me, if you’re there.  I… I just want to make sure you’re all right.  Mickey?”  She frowned into the swirling, empty mist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey fell back against the stone again, breathing hard.  Panic gripped him now; he was running out of time.  What had he been thinking?  He should’ve raised the alarm about Shyster sooner, should’ve listened to his gut.  Donald would’ve understood, if he’d shared his suspicions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald.  Everybody.  Mickey shut his eyes.  What would they think about all this if… if he didn’t make it?  What would Shyster tell them?  Would they believe it, whatever excuse he made up?  And Minnie, what would become of her?  Pete acted like he intended to take over the forest.  Minnie would have a thing or two to say about that, but what if it wasn’t enough?  And if he wasn’t there to protect her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey lifted his head.  He couldn’t let that happen.  His friends, Minnie - everybody.  He couldn’t let Pete and Shyster use them all like pawns in their stupid game.  He had to escape, he just had to.  He couldn’t leave Minnie all alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flung himself against the gate again, good shoulder first, and he pushed as hard as he could.  There wasn’t enough purchase on the stone floor; his feet slid out from under him.  The air was beginning to smell like morning; it made his throat burn.  Mickey bared his fangs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrapped his fingers through the ironwork and lifted one foot against the wall, and pulled.  His shoulder burned, but he pulled harder. It felt like everything was tearing apart all over again, but he kept pulling, even as his grunts of effort became a strangled shout of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to, had to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>had to</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The iron bent.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BROKE</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Mickey screamed, falling back hard against the stone floor of the mausoleum.  He’d never felt pain like that in his life, but he forced himself up onto his knees.  His arm hung numb at his side; he struggled to his feet, grinning in spite of the cold sweat beading across his brow.  He’d done it.  He was free.  He limped forward, shouldering past the shattered gate.  Whatever Shyster was planning, he was gonna stop it.  But he had to warn Minnie.  Warn everybody else after.  He paused as his boot crunched against a piece of broken glass.  With a little effort, he bent and picked up the ruined compact.  Minnie would understand, wouldn’t she?  He’d explain everything.  He brushed a thumb around its battered rim.  He’d tell her….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Light.  Golden and terrible, all-consuming.  The shards of the mirror caught and reflected it, but that was the least of things.  It spilled over the horizon and Mickey jerked his head around, blinded.  He cried out, staggering backwards, feet slipping on the damp stone.  It seared the arm he threw up to protect his face, caught his hip as he scrambled back into the shadows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunrise.  The dawn had come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey crawled as far back into the crypt as he could, pressing himself against the back wall.  The brightness made his eyes water, but even at a squint, he could see the light pushing the shadows back, inch by inch.  There was nowhere to hide; in a few minutes, the entire mausoleum would be flooded with sunlight.  The gate didn’t matter anymore now, it was too late.  He was trapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey shut his eyes tight, curling himself up into a ball.  He clutched the shattered compact to his chest.  “Minnie.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, Minnie….”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Minnie….</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. In the Daylight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Mickey?  ...Mickey, please answer me, if you’re there.  I… I just want to make sure you’re all right.  Mickey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.  No response at all.  Minnie sighed, and tucked the compact loosely into her bodice, feeling too tired to even bother with replacing it in her pocket.  She’d leave it out next to the bed just in case Mickey did try to return her call, which she was sure he would.  Probably she was just overwrought.  Everything that was happening in the forest, spending all night searching for Rowdy, it was a lot.  Besides, dawn must’ve been breaking already.  She started up the stairs.  When this was all over, Minnie was going to have a tea party, that was what.  She’d bake the biggest beetlebug cake you ever saw and invite all her friends and they’d have a wonderful time, drinking tea and talking and laughing and smiling and… and she’d cut Mickey the biggest piece of all.  He’d probably never had a slice of homemade beetlebug cake in his life.  She smiled to herself, gaining the top of the stairs, giving the compact a fond little pat.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mi--...-orry.  So s...---ry, …-nnie.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie stopped cold as the mirror crackled.  The sound was tinny and faint, far-away, crackling and distorted, but unmistakable. It was Mickey’s voice.  She snatched it up and opened it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey!  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mickey!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.  But a terrible sensation descended over her, tingling in every nerve.  First he didn’t answer, now he seemed to, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.  His voice sounded so strange, too.  What did it all mean?  And what if Clarabelle really had seen him?  But why would he linger so long?  Or, if it wasn’t Mickey….  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was wrong, she could feel it.  But what could she do?  She turned her lower lip into her mouth and chewed on it, pacing for a long moment, before the answer came to her and Minnie hurried to her bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vanity was a mess of trinkets, as always, but Minnie pounced, digging through them until she found what she was looking for, a small stick of pink chalk.  Perfect.  She scanned the room a second.  It had been a little while since she’d done any scrying, but the center of the room should be - of course, right there, where she’d placed the little woven floor rug.  She kicked it out of the way a bit unceremoniously, which was not, perhaps, the best way to begin a ritual, but her sense of unease grew stronger with each passing moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie knelt on the floor and drew a magic circle with trembling fingers.  Vampires were immune to most magic, of course.  You couldn’t just scry on them like you could mortals or most other ghouls.  But Mickey had an object that had belonged to her, been enchanted by her, and when you put a piece of yourself in something, it stayed there.  If she couldn’t see him, maybe she could still look through the mirror he carried.  It must be with him - she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was his voice she’d heard just now.  Minnie placed the compact in the middle of the circle and rested her fingertips on top of it, closing her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Show me what you see</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie let her head fall back, searching in the dark.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are you, Mickey?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  It couldn’t be that even now, he was hidden from her sight, could it?  She searched harder.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There.  A tiny prick of light in the dark.  But it was odd.  The images came in little flashes, like the facets of a prism catching the light, each one sparkling for just an instant before disappearing again.  Broken glass.  Grass and stone and marble.  And sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sunlight?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand clutched the mirror.  Mickey’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunlight.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sunlight.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s eyes flew open.  The graveyard.  It was the graveyard.  The compact was there, so that meant Mickey was there.  But no - no, it couldn’t be.  Impossible.  She turned to the window.  It was always dark in this part of the forest, but even so, the time must be - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mickey</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She all but flew down the stairs, snatching up her broom on the way out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Goofy, Horace and Clarabelle hadn’t even made it back down the path from Minnie’s house before she shot past them, sending up a whirlwind of fallen leaves.  Clarabelle gasped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mi - Minnie!  What are you -”  But Minnie was already out of sight, so she turned and gaped at the menfolk instead.  Goofy was staring after the witch, scratching his head.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gosh - flyin’ full speed in the woods!  That’s awful dangerous!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The girl’s lost all her sense,” Horace muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes I think you never had any to begin with.”  Clarabelle put her hands on her hips.  Horace frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that supposed ta mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Horace, you do aggravate me.  Can’tcha see somethin’s terrible wrong about this?  Didn’t you see her face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could I?  She blazed through here like th’furies, I was lucky to throw myself clear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle scoffed.  “Did you see which way she was goin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’tcha hear a word I just said?  A’course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was goin’ too fast.  Even if I’d saw where she went, we’d never catch up to her,” Goofy sadly agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.  C’mon then.”  Clarabelle spun around and began marching back the way they’d come.  Goofy started to follow even as Horace shook his head in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to Minnie’s house.  I’m sure I couldn’t sleep a wink anyway, I’m too worried.  We’re gonna wait right there until she comes back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, snakes n’ spiders.”  But Horace followed along behind as they all made their way back up the path.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Minnie bent close over her broomstick, heart pounding.  She’d never flown so fast in her entire life, certainly not in the woods.  But she wasn’t afraid of crashing, wasn’t afraid of anything, at least not for herself.  Second sight had never been one of her strongest gifts, but right now, it didn’t have to be.  Perhaps she needn’t have been a witch at all to know something was wrong.  Her connection with Mickey would’ve been enough.  Even so, she wanted to be mistaken about the whole thing. Wanted to hear his voice warble into her hearing through the compact, sleepily telling her he was home safe.  He had to be home safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then why was every part of her screaming that he was in danger?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie burst through the trees into the open valley and immediately winced.  Sunlight.  The dawn had come, crimson and gold on the horizon.  Minnie hadn’t seen a sunrise in a long time.  She’d always found its savage power beautiful, if frightening, but now she felt only dread.  She pressed on, gripping her broom so tightly her hands ached.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The graveyard in daylight was like an utterly different world.  Its magic was dormant here, the tombstones and crypts overgrown with weeds, cracked and faded with time and neglect.  Like this, it belonged to the mortal world; it was only at night the graveyard held true power.  It made her shiver a little bit, feeling that absence.  Like her power was faded along with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slid off the broom and hit the ground running, gathering up her skirts so she wouldn’t trip, calling Mickey’s name, unsure whether or not she really wanted to hear an answer.  She made for the bench where he’d sat with Rowdy hours earlier, but there was no sign of him there.  That was good - or was it bad?  Minnie felt sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey!  Mickey, answer me, if you’re there.  Mickey!”  She stopped a minute to take stock, looking around.  The sun was rising higher every moment; already the red horizon was washing away into gold, and then into hot white.  How bright would the graveyard be at the sun’s peak?  She’d never thought to find out, but the idea sickened her now.  Every stone she passed terrified her, and every dark patch of moss or brush or broken rock, every time the sunlight flashed in a drop of dew or a patch of polished stone clarified what she was most afraid of - that she would see Mickey there, crumpled on the ground, his body reduced to - what?  A burned corpse, a melted wreck, a mass of ashes -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eye caught a sparkle on the ground.  Minnie gasped, almost stumbling on the uneven earth as she raced toward it, bending to brush trembling fingers against the shards of broken glass, scattered beneath the twisted, broken gates of an old crypt.  Could it be…?  But he’d held the mirror in his hands, she knew it, she’d felt it.  Minnie looked around wildly, but there wasn’t a trace of him anywhere.  No, no, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“MICKEY!”  She brushed her hair back and held it there a second, grasped handfuls of it, tears pricking her eyes for the first time in that white-gold light that made her head ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey was smart, strong, absolutely capable.  He had to be all right.  He would’ve made it back in time, or - or he would’ve found another way.  Hadn’t she spent ages and ages lamenting how clever he was?  How resilient?  Today would be no different.  He had to be alive.  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be -!  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Minnie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so faint that for a moment, Minnie thought she’d imagined it.  The world felt bleached and pale, and she spun around in that empty void, feeling more lost than she ever had in her whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey!  Where are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.  In here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie spun to face the open crypt.  It certainly looked empty; maybe she really was crazy.  But no, that wasn’t true at all.  The mausoleum was deeper than she’d taken it for.  The sunlight was stretching across the floor, but there, in the last small pocket of deep shadow… Minnie stepped forward, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey!”  Her legs seemed to turn to water, and then went out from under her altogether.  Minnie fell to her knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Mickey.  He looked more pale than she’d ever seen, his dark eyes like two burnt holes, but he was alive.  He was half-slumped against the back wall, in a vanishing band of shadows, and his jaw was tight with pain, but even so he gave her a faint smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Min… how...how’d you find me…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The mirror,” she managed at last, though her tongue felt thick and heavy as mud.  “Mickey, what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shyster,” Mickey said simply, trying and failing to sit up a little straighter.  The motion caused the toe of his boot to poke into the sunlight and he jerked it back, wincing.  “Him and Pete are working together.  Have been all along.  They’re tryin’ to start a war.  Min - y-you’ve gotta -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, never mind that now.”  Minnie looked him over in horror.  He was hurt, that was obvious.  She glanced over her shoulder.  The sun was still rising higher, and the little patch of darkness was shrinking.  The horror of the realization made her probably as pale as Mickey was when she looked back at him.  “We’ve got to get you out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “...S’too late for that now,” he said gently.  His voice was hoarse and tired, and sad in a way Minnie’d never heard before.  It chilled her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” she scolded at once.  “It’s not - it’s not too late.  Here: if you - maybe if you transform, I can - yes, see?  I can hide you.  I’ll carry you out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey was shaking his head and Minnie’s voice faltered.  “...S’no good.  Th’sunlight’s too strong.  C-can’t transform now anyhow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie stared at him, disbelieving.  “Then… th-then I’ll stay here with you.  I’ll - I’ll shield you.  See?”  She crawled to him, sitting on the stone floor and taking him in her arms, her back to the light.  “I’ll protect you until it’s night, so...so you have to stay.”  Tears were welling in her eyes again, overflowing and starting to fall.  She couldn’t stop them.  “Mickey, you have to stay with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey closed his eyes too.  “Can’t...can’t live in th’ daylight,” he whispered.  She felt him swallow hard.  “I’m sorry, Min.  I messed up pretty bad, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that.  Mickey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  She held him tighter, tears falling against his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry.  I… I really did wanna have that big party with ya.  M-maybe even have a dance or two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sunlight touched his hand and he gasped, drawing it back.  A choked sob forced its way from Minnie’s tight throat, and she covered his hand in hers.  “Y-you’ll still have it, though.  Promise me ya will, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t.  I can’t - not without </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I WON’T!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie felt the sunlight against her back.  Time had run out.  Mickey was going to die in her arms, and there wasn’t anything anybody could do to save him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anybody besides Minnie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the hands of an experienced witch or warlock, almost anything is possible.  Of course, you need a place to start from - even magic has rules.  But with a strong enough spell, you can twist things pretty satisfactorily to serve your own ends.  All you need is a deep connection to magic, a strong will, and a clear vision of what you want.  Spells and curses, hexes and blessings, it doesn’t matter.  You must have one thought, one desire, and nothing else can matter in that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And nothing else did matter.  She had to save Mickey.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She loved him, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The sun shall never touch you again!  TI EB OS!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie sat, gasping, as her own voice echoed in her ears.  The sunlight was hot against her back and her arms, and even without opening her eyes, she knew the light had spilled over her against the back wall of the mausoleum.  She was too afraid to open her eyes, could only clutch the back of Mickey’s coat, trembling from head to toe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Mickey’s arms went around her and pulled her along into his chest as he eased himself painfully into a sitting position against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...S-spells an’ hexes,” he said weakly.  “...Wouldja lookit that….?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie lifted her head at last, and she did look, although her vision was blurry with tears.  Mickey was slowly turning his hand, squinting at it curiously.  It cast no shadow on the floor of the crypt, even though the sun was filling every corner of the cramped space.  Minnie swallowed stickily, sniffling hard, but she was brave enough to reach out and pass her fingers over his.  It was a curious thing to witness.  Where their hands overlapped, it was as if a shadow in the shape of Mickey fell over her as well.  But when she moved her hand away, the light struck it immediately.  Even when she looked at him, it made her blink, because it was just the same as when her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the shadows of the crypt. Now, the shadows wrapped around Mickey himself - and only Mickey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked up at his face at last to find him gazing back at her.  He looked well and truly spent, but that little faint smile widened slowly.  “How...how’d you do that?” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie brushed her fingers across his cheek, just to make sure.  Deep, delicious, healing shadow.  She could scarcely believe it herself.  “I put a curse on you,” she answered, dazedly.  He seemed to think that over for a few seconds, then she felt him chuckle, low and soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… guess I was wrong about that too.  Whatta...whatta dope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed.  The next thing Minnie knew, she was laughing too, although it felt a little bit like sobbing.  She couldn’t help it either way.  They fell back and lay there for a few minutes in a tangled mess, laughing together until Minnie felt so weak she couldn’t move, and then they had to lay there quietly for a few minutes more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At long last, Minnie regathered her wits and managed to sit up again, prodding gently while he lay, eyes closed, but brow furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shyster ...an’ Pete,” he murmured.  “We gotta… we’re gonna haveta stop ‘em.  Wanted to get me out of the way.  Shyster said -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh.  Shut up,” Minnie interrupted him gently.  He opened one eye to squint at her.  She cupped his cheek fondly.  “You’re hurt.  We’ve got to get you out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, heck, I feel great… s’real comfy now, like this….” he nuzzled against her palm and it made her chest burst into tingles.  But she shook her head firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense.  I’ve got to look at these burns - and that shoulder.  I knew it was worse than you let on.  Besides, it’s still dangerous to be out here in broad daylight, anyway.”  She started to chew on her lip again, looking around.  The boomstick would be fastest, but with Mickey in the condition he was in….  “Do you think you could transform now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?  Back into a bat?  I… I don’t actually know.  I could try.  N-not sure I’m up to the flight, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t be flying.  You’re going to ride with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened both eyes.  “Oh?  Zat so, huh…?  Well…”  The little smile returned.  “Sure could try, in that case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She helped him to sit up, and then get shakily to his feet.  He seemed so weak that the little sour core of worry settled in her gut again, but he held his chin up bravely even as he leaned against her for support.  “Okay, here we go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t quite have the same pazzazz now as the first time Minnie’d seen him change shape, but change shape he did, shrinking into the cute little black bat Minnie remembered.  He tried to flutter up to her shoulder, but his wing sort of seized up almost immediately.  Minnie snatched him in before he could fall to the ground, and cuddled him against her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh -!  That’ll be quite enough.  You just rest now.”  He looked, perhaps, as though his pride was wounded a little bit, but it did not last very long.  How could it, when she nestled him into the crook of her arm as she returned to her broom and settled back down for the ride home.  Any vampire, bat, or anyone else, must’ve found it pretty cozy to rest their head on Minnie’s chest that way, held lovingly to her heart.  It was so comfortable, a fellow could just about….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did give her a little jolt, as she flew home again, when she felt how still and quiet he was.  Minnie slowed the broom as the entered the relative safety of the forest, looking down to check on him - but no, it was all right.  He was fast asleep, that was all, tiny chest rising and falling steadily.  Minnie let out a little breath of her own in relief, then hurried on towards home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Horace.  Horace!”  Clarabelle elbowed him.  Horace snorted.  At some point, as they’d sat there waiting on the porch, his sleepy head and fallen over against Goofy’s, and they’d stayed there like that for a spell, propped up against each other, snoring.  Clarabelle had let this go on, knowing it was useless to keep poking at them every five minutes when it wouldn’t do a bit of good.  But now she was standing up, shielding her eyes to squint down the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wh - what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s her - she’s comin’ back home!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goofy almost fell against the porch as his support structure vanished, but he caught himself just in time, yawning so hard it almost split his face open.  “Oh...gosh, what a relief.  I been on pins n’ needles,” he slurred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minnie!”  Clarabelle was already trotting down the path to meet her.  “What’s happened?!  I been worried sick - why, it’s practically noontime!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s heartbeat quickened as she saw Clarabelle approaching.  She’d been in such a desperate rush to get to Mickey, she hadn’t thought about passing her friends, but the memory came back to her now.  She should’ve known they would be worried about her.  But now - she shot a look down at Mickey, who stirred, blinking sleepily as the noise aroused him.  What should she do?  She couldn’t very well hide him, not in the next two seconds, but how could she ever explain?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But...what was there to explain, anyway?  Only the truth.  Minnie was tired of keeping secrets.  She’d fought for Mickey once today already; she could do it a second time.  She could do it a hundred times.  She looked down at him.  “...Don’t worry,” she murmured.  “It’ll be all right.”  He looked poised to fly - or do something - but he rested against her again at this, if a little less comfortably.  Minnie went to meet Clarabelle, head high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarabelle, I’m so glad you’re here.  I’m sorry I worried you.  I didn’t have a choice.  He couldn’t wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who couldn’t wait?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey.”  She shifted to reveal the little bundle cradled in her arms and Clarabelle’s eyes widened.  Minnie looked at her steadily.  “...He’s hurt, Clarabelle.  Pretty badly, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurt -!”  Horace approached, followed by Goofy.  “How is he even alive?  It’s broad daylight out there -!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s really the Count?” Goofy scratched his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  And he needs my help.  He needs </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> help.”  Minnie searched her friends’ faces.  Goofy, Horace...Clarabelle.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially Clarabelle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long pause, Clarabelle gave an exasperated snort.  “Well...then what’re we all doin’, standing around out here, in the middle of the day, no less?  We better all go inside an’ get a cauldron on the fire right away.  Horace can see to that, an’ Goofy, you best go out an’ pick some fresh bloodberries, she’ll need them.  That little bush b’hind the house will do just fine, badness knows the reg’lar patch is in a sorry state anyhow.  What’re you waitin’ for?  Move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled like that.  It hurt her cheeks.  “...Thank you, Clarabelle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, too!  Move, move!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie allowed herself  - and Mickey - to be hustled into the house.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Count Mickey is Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was all kind of a blur once they got Mickey upstairs.  Afterwards, Minnie was never quite sure how she had intended to manage all on her own without Clarabelle’s help.  She would’ve managed it, of course; it was for Mickey’s sake, so she would’ve made do somehow.  But it was a relief to have such a capable helper, especially since Mickey’s injuries were every bit as bad as she’d feared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d decided at once to put him in her own bed, even though it meant making trips up and down the stairs to get to and from the kitchen.  The parlor was too exposed, too close to the front door, and besides, it wasn’t as comfortable.  So Minnie’s bed it was, and if Mickey wasn’t so exhausted, he might’ve felt a little embarrassed, as he changed back into his true shape only to slump in a rumpled heap against the soft blankets and pillows that smelled faintly of Minnie herself, and a whole lot of faint herby things he knew nothing about.  He would’ve felt even more embarrassed when she immediately got him out of his jacket and started opening up his shirt, and he did offer some sort of stammering protest when she took the shirt away from him altogether.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hush,” she told him, so he did hush, and mostly stayed that way, not least because every time he tried to talk, somebody else hushed him all over again.  He didn’t mind when Minnie did it, although when it was Clarabelle, he liked that much less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the sunburns were deep.  That worried Minnie, but she focused herself on putting a whole lot of things into a mortar and then grinding them with a pestle until they made a foul-smelling paste, which she began methodically applying to every burn she could find.  Mickey was glad he wasn’t burned any place unmentionable because he was pretty sure Minnie wouldn’t have spared him.  At any rate, when he was suitably smeared with salve, and then had a couple of powders sprinkled over him for good measure - one of which made him sneeze terribly - he found himself propped up against a nearly ridiculous mass of pillows while Minnie pressed a cup into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink this,” she told him, in the most gentle voice he’d ever heard her use, and he probably would’ve gulped the cup down just to please her, even if it tasted as vile as that tea of Clarabelle’s he’d suffered through in Minnie’s kitchen a lifetime ago.  But it wasn’t tea at all; it was bloodberry juice, fresh bloodberry juice, thick with the skins of freshly-crushed fruit.  It tasted so good, it almost made him shiver.  Funny how it had never occurred to him before that he’d never tasted such fresh bloodberries; not once in his whole life.  The crop that traveled up the mountain was always tasty, certainly, but you couldn’t exactly eat them straight from the bush like this, picked just a few minutes ago and mashed to drink before they ever knew what hit them.  He had no idea anything could taste so delicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no idea anything could make you so sleepy either.  He never even set aside the empty cup before Minnie was gently lifting it from his unresisting hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarabelle was pouring a cup of tea before Minnie even stepped into the kitchen a short while later.  She could hear faint snoring from the parler, where Goofy had fallen asleep on the settee.  Clarabelle held the cup out to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.  You look worn clean through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Clarabelle - for </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  Minnie took the tea gratefully and sipped at it.  “Where’s Horace?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sent him home for a while to get some sleep.  And to check through the village and make sure there’s been no mischief since daybreak.  S’pose most everyone’s asleep but once nightfall comes, wickedness knows.  You should get some rest yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’ll get my shuteye, don’t worry. I’ll take shifts with Horace if I have to.  But somebody’s got to look after you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goofy’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmph!  A fine watchman he is.”  A particularly loud snore seemed to punctuate her point.  Minnie laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, I’ll be all right, Clarabelle.  There’s nothing to worry about anyway, is there?  I mean, not really.”  She looked down into the teacup, spinning it slowly between her two hands.  “...After all, if it’s the Count you’re afraid of, he’s fast asleep upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not the Count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked up.  Clarabelle was wiping her hands with a dishtowel, which she then began folding and unfolding, smoothing and refolding.  At last, she spoke.  “...Guess I’ve always known things would have to come to a head eventually.  Ever since that day you made up your mind to go up the mountain.  No, before that, even.  And now…”  She laid the towel down on the table and rested her hand there for a moment.  “...You said it was the Count’s friend that did all that to him?  Him and Pete?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I don’t think he was ever a friend, exactly.  More like an advisor.”  Minnie rubbed a hand over her forehead.  “...I suppose I owe you an apology, Clarabelle.  I said none of the vampires meant us any harm, but ….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some folks are born rotten,” Clarabelle reiterated firmly, then hesitated.  “But...I guess there’s more than plenty of that to go around.  Sorry to say it, but it’s no surprise to me that Pete’s involved.  He’s been up to no good for as long as I can remember.  Makes me mad, y’know.  I’ve been so afraid of trouble comin’ down from Up There, but I never quite believed one of our own would invite it in.  Not like this.”  She looked at Minnie, who was shocked to see a quiver in her lips.  She’d never seen Clarabelle cry before, really cry, but she looked near to it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’m awful sorry too.  I kept thinking it was you and that Count I had to worry about, and now….”  She shook her head miserably.  “I suppose I just kept hoping that somehow I could keep you from getting tangled up in a mess like this one.  You’ve always tried to do right by everybody, since the day you became our sweet little mistress, and now…I just don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s tender heart went out to her friend at once.  A second later she was hugging Clarabelle around the middle as tight as she could.  She heard a very damp sniffle and then felt Clarabelle’s much longer arms encircle her too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!  You’ve always taken such good care of me.  Ever since I can remember.  Don’t cry, please don’t.  It’ll be all right.”  Minnie closed her eyes.  “I know things look bad now, but we’ll find a way out of this mess.  Now that Mickey’s here, I just know -”  She trailed off, cheeks getting a little warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt Clarabelle sigh deeply.  “You really do think somethin’ of that Count, don’t you, honey?  Well.  I still can’t see how it’ll work out, and I’m not just sure that I trust him, but I trust you.  I suppose a person has to make up their mind sometime they’re just gonna choose the right way whatever other folks do, and that’s all there is to it.  So you just count on Horace and me.  We’ll stick beside you no matter what happens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie was smiling so hard it hurt her cheeks.  Now it felt like she was the one on the verge of tears.  “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt Clarabelle take a breath as if to speak - but for once, she seemed to find there was nothing left that needed to be said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mickey awoke in the soft dark of Minnie’s room and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before it all came back to him.  Crypts and coffins, what time was it?  He’d had one those sleeps where it might’ve been twenty minutes or it might’ve been thirty years.  He still felt a little groggy as he sat up, but once he was upright, Mickey noticed right away that his shoulder felt better than it had since he’d injured it in the first place.  He gave it a couple cautious rotations.  Maybe there was a little stiffness, but the improvement was undeniable.  That was promising.  He probed carefully at a couple of the worst burns he recalled, and those seemed to be healing nicely too.  So far, so good.  The house seemed awfully quiet and still; where had Minnie got herself to?  Feeling a little ashamed for having allowed himself to be installed in her own bedroom, no matter how helpless he’d felt to stop it at the time, Mickey shoved back the covers and scooted to the edge of the bed.  That must be his own shirt there, hung neatly over a little bramble-backed chair, and Mickey eased gingerly to his feet to retrieve it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d gotten an arm into one sleeve when the door opened silently, and he froze as Minnie herself appeared and caught sight of him.  She certainly reacted like he’d been doing something naughty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey!  You’re awake!  And </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>are you doing out of bed?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“P...Puttin’ on m’shirt,” Mickey stammered as she set something aside on the chair and swept down on him, prodding him back, hurrying to try and get both arms into the sleeves before she could take the shirt away from him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to be resting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> restin’.”  He sat back with a bounce on the bed, and the obvious truth of this statement made him feel a little bolder.  “ What time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie seemed to calm down a bit once he was off his feet.  She even reached out and fixed his shirt collar, which had gotten twisted in on itself in his haste.  He relaxed too once he realized she wasn’t trying to strip it off of him again.  “...Just a couple hours past sunset, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already?”  Gosh, he’d really slept all day, then.  Must’ve really been tired.  Minnie nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a little worried at first, but then when I checked on you, you seemed so peaceful.  I hated to wake you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey cleared his throat, trying not to think too deeply about all that - Minnie checking on him and whatnot.  Fortunately, another thought occurred to him.  “Say, didja get any rest yourself?” He squinted at her suspiciously but Minnie only smiled and didn’t look guilty at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  Clarabelle kept an eye on things so I could sleep for a while.  Oh!  That reminds me.”  She fluttered over to the chair and Mickey quickly finished fastening up the clasps of his shirt.  She returned with a cup.  “Here.  I brought you some more bloodberry juice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey took the cup and sniffed appreciatively.  The thought flitted across his mind that the last time he threw one of these back, it had apparently knocked him out cold, but his mouth was already watering, so what the heck.  He drained the cup in one deep draught, and let out a long, slow hum of satisfaction when he was done.  He didn’t quite notice Minnie watching him with pink cheeks, although he turned and smiled at her after, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.  “Mmmm.  Tastes amazin’!  Sure you ain’t just stuffin’ me fulla potions or somethin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie took the cup back and giggled as she set it aside, taking a seat next to him on the bed.  Gosh, but she was awful cute.  “No.  Most really good potions don’t exactly taste amazing.  This is just pure bloodberries.  Actually, I was a little worried before, the way you just … but I guess you must’ve needed it.”  The smile faded from her face.  “Oh, Mickey...” she said very quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”  When she didn’t, or couldn’t immediately answer, he took her hands in his and wriggled a little closer.  “Hey.  Min…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so scared.  I still am.  I can’t help it.  I keep thinking I’ll wake up and it won’t be real.”  She studied his face with anguished brown eyes.  It made his chest ache.  “I really almost lost you, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips parted, but he couldn’t reassure her this wasn’t the case, because it was.  He sat up a little straighter.  “...You saved my life,” he said firmly.  “That’s what counts.  We’ve got a real chance now, all because of you.  Nuts, I haven’t even thanked you properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be silly, that’s not important.  What are you doing?  Mickey?”  Minnie looked baffled as Mickey leaped to his feet, and just as abruptly dropped to his knees before her, beaming up at her with those impossible blue eyes as he clasped her hands again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I owe ya my life, Minerva Nettlemouse!  I won’t soon forget it, neither.  My ancestors thank you, my loyal subjects thank you - some of ‘em, anyhow -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mickey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An’ I thank you.  I’m in your debt.  But I’ll see it repaid, mark my words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you stop this silliness?  I was being serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So am I.  Just consider me yer humble servant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mick-KEY!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adorin’, even.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!”  She swatted lightly at his hands, but this only served to remind him he’d been holding them before.  He caught them again, now fully swept up in his own nonsense, successful as it was in distracting her from her worries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!  My lady favors her poor dumb sap.  I kiss her hand.  So.”  He touched his lips to her knuckles.  Minnie stopped squirming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey stopped too, eyes traveling slowly up until they found hers.  He forgot what he’d been about to say next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...S-so,” he repeated thickly, and did it again.  Minnie tucked her chin to her chest, but she didn’t draw her hand away.  She didn’t ask him to stop either, so he kissed her fingers a third time.  Then a surge of something swept through him, and he took her wrist, turning it in gentle fingers to press his mouth to her palm almost feverishly, closing his eyes, her hand covered safely in his.  He felt, for a second, like a supplicant at the altar, and maybe it showed in his eyes when he opened them again, because she inhaled a shaking breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a creak from somewhere in the house. Maybe somebody stepped on a loose floorboard or something.  Didn’t matter what.  The point was, both Mickey and Minnie realized they weren’t the only two people in the world after all, and felt, very selfishly, a little disappointed about it.  But it couldn’t be helped; the spell was broken and both mice got to their feet.  Perhaps there was a little magic left over, though.  He was still holding her hand, and after a little pause, she smiled again like she had before.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure your loyal subjects would approve of all this, Count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh.  Not sure yours would, neither.  But I guess we’re gonna get the chance to find out soon enough.”  He sobered.  “...Got the advantage, at least for a while.  I don’t know exactly how Pete an’ Shyster aim to play all this, but they sure didn’t intend on invitin’ me.  As long as they think I’m dead, we’ve got one up on ‘em.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about your people, Mickey?  What do you think the Baron is going to tell them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno exactly, but it’s a cinch yer gonna have company sooner or later.  I’d liketa tell ya everybody just thinks that much of me, but I don’t think it’d matter.  Coulda been anybody.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.  Except you’re the one who was standing in the way of a war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”  Mickey shook his head bitterly.  “Can’t believe what a fool I was.  All this time.  Coulda mended things years ago if I woulda just listened to you a little more an’ folks like Shyster a lil’ less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So could I.  But we can’t change that now.  We’ve got to stop them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”  Mickey shook himself back to the present.  “Yeah.  Say: d’you think that curse of yours will last a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie quirked a brow.  “When I place a curse, it’s permanent.  Unless I change my mind.  I don’t change my mind much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned at that.  “Damndest thing.  But all right, so, we’ll count that as one-and-a-half we got over on Shyster and Pete.  They don’t know I just became the scariest creep on the mountain.”  His fangs showed for a second.  “Well...all right, then.  So now that I’ve wasted th’whole day, we’ll haveta make some plans quick.  Have you got some folks around here you can trust?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie nodded.  “Clarabelle and Horace.  Goofy, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey puffed out one cheek.  “Sure wish I could get ahold of Donald somehow, but… well, we’ll haveta start with what we got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think we’ll have time?  Oh, I knew I shouldn’t waste all that time sleeping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, who’re you talkin’ to?  Anyhow, Shyster won’t have been able to do much til now anyhow.  Village ain’t all vampires, but you won’t catch hardly anybody out before nightfall.”  He made a face.  “Prob’ly up there right now tellin’ everybody you melted me with yer magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Mickey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, don’t you worry, Min.  I won’t letcha out of my sight from now on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you.  And - what about Donald?  He’ll be terribly upset when he thinks….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey winced.  “Yeah.  I know.  But we can’t risk it.  Just haveta trust him to keep his head on straight until we can wise him up.  Which </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> askin’ a lot of Donald.  He ain’t known for his cool head.  Gaah - I shoulda talked to him sooner, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get your chance.  We’ll think of a way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  Yeah.  A’course we will.”  He straightened his back again, determined to be strong, for Minnie if for no other reason.  “Well… can’t hide in here all day.  C’mon.  Let’s go rally up the troops, such as they are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”  Her eyes drifted back towards the bed as if wondering whether he wouldn’t be better off returning to it.  But Mickey thumped his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A’course!  Feel a hundred percent - or at least ninety-nine.  Honest.  It’s amazing, actually.  That fresh bloodberry juice must pack a wallop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked pleased.  “It always is best when it’s fresh.  I was hoping it’d help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An’ how!  If we could get it like that on the mountain, nobody’d ever dream of fightin’ again.  Be just a sea of shinin’ faces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so?” Minnie giggled.  “Then I wish you could grow it there.  I guess that’d be bad for trade, but it’d sure save us a lot of time too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh.”  They’d been moving very slowly toward the door during this conversation, and had now reached it.  Mickey reached for the handle and rested his hand there a moment.  “Say, didja ever have any luck with that spell?  The one you told me about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie’s mouth twisted a little in amusement.  She’d confided in Mickey during one of their chats via the compact about her hopes for helping the werefolk.  “Not exactly.  I did manage to work a whopping big curse out of it for a very dear friend of mine, but I still haven’t found a solution to our moonlight problem.  I did have high hopes for the spell to capture moonlight in a prism, but it has to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>pure</span>
  </em>
  <span> moonlight, and it must be captured when the full moon shines its brightest, which of course is only once a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what’s the matter with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plenty. It turns out that when the moon is at its brightest, it passes straight behind the mountain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mickey winced.  “Aw, heck!  So it’s our fault again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed.  “No, not really.  You didn’t put the mountain just there on purpose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, even so.”  She began to open the door, and a thought occurred to him.  In a moment of particular stupidity, he expressed it:  “Say, wait a minute - er...w-who was that dear friend of yours, anyways?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looked at him, twinkling.  “...Ohhh, him?  Nobody special.  But he’s very handsome and has devilish round ears and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> allergic to sunlight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said Mickey, when the shock of his own dimwittedness faded enough to allow speech.  But he was never one to let a thing like that keep him down.  By the time he was following Minnie down the stairs, he was grinning again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Donald was never at his best first thing in the evening.  He was the sort of person who likes to spend the first few hours of each night easing into wakefulness by laying in bed for a while, and then dragging around the house for a while, eating a leisurely breakfast, and then not doing much of anything for possibly the whole day so as not to rush things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it follows naturally that while most people don’t like to have their door knocked on when the sun’s barely dipped below the horizon, Donald found it particularly offensive.  To be dragged out of a comfortable bed for the apparent purpose of an urgent town meeting was disgusting above all things, and he stalked towards the town square now with more or less the feeling that the entire world was just one big bad smell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t help that he’d gone to bed annoyed in the first place.  Last night, after a visit to Daisy’s place where she’d talked his ear off for a hour about all her stupid frog’s little cute tricks but then tickled him - Donald - under the chin and giggled prettily, he’d toddled over Mickey’s place to say hello.  It’d be a relief for the poor guy to know that Donald had forgiven him.  He’d felt hugely magnanimous about that, aglow with his own generosity and friendship, and then Mickey’d had the absolute nerve to not be there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald didn’t see him around as he trudged into the square now, either, which was irritating all over again.  It was half the reason he’d come, so he could complain a little bit before inevitably making things up again with his best friend.  He must’ve been the one who’d called the meeting in the first place, so it was pretty crummy of him to be late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Donald!  Oh, Donald!”  He turned as Daisy hurried over, looking as fresh as - well, as always.  She took his arm and he brightened a little bit.  Mickey wasn’t the only person worth his notice, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s all th’commotion, toots?  I had to cut my beauty sleep short for this.  You look like you got plenny, tho.”  He grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Piff.  How can you even stand yourself?” She swatted his arm, but looked pleased anyway.  “Say, what’s this all about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’m I supposed to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I thought maybe you’d talked to Mickey or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.  I was gonna last night, but he wasn’t at home.  Actually, I haven’t seen him for a couple of nights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy frowned a little, but didn’t say anything.  She wouldn’t have had much time anyway, because right about then, a voice cut through the murmur of the townsfolk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone!  Quiet, quiet please.  Thank you for assembling so quickly.”  Donald made a face.  The speaker wasn’t Mickey at all, but Baron Shyster.  Now there was a real piece of work.  There were plenty of people Donald didn’t get on with at all, and that was just fine.  But Mickey liked everybody and he still thought the Baron was kind of a pill, so you knew there had to be something to it.  Donald didn’t know him all that well; whenever the Baron was around, he generally aimed to be someplace else.  He strongly suspected that the guy was a sourpuss, and Donald couldn’t be bothered with sourpusses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sure looked it now, holding out his skinny arms as he paused for everyone’s attention.  “...I know we’ve all been sorely tried in recent nights.  The terrible incident at the mine, the cruelty and shameless aggression demonstrated by the Witch and her minions has taken its toll on every one of you.  But nothing we have faced before has ever come close -” his voice seemed to crack and he paused a moment, holding a hand to his lips.  Donald rolled his eyes.  Some guys got emotional about things.  Mickey’d done it.  But the Baron wasn’t that type and he shouldn’t have tried it.  Still, some of the older ladies seemed to buy it, and shook their heads and clucked sympathetically as the Baron apparently rallied himself to continue.  “...I must ask you all to gather your courage once again, to be strong together.  I have difficult news for you - tragic news.  I wish, so desperately wish - but no.  We must face our future squarely in the face.  All of you...together with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  He drew himself up and raised his chin squarely.  He spoke slowly, clearly, so that his voice carried to every ear in the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Count Mickey is dead.”</span>
</p>
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